


Plant Food

by Legs (InsanityRule)



Series: A Modicum of Humanity Makes Everything Harder [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Self Harm, Swearing, Tasers, Though it's only vaguely referenced and all on the part of Zsasz being added to the cast, depictions of violence/fight scenes, more added as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 64,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8472460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs
Summary: Bruce Wayne first donned the cowl ten years ago, vowing to protect Gotham's citizens from crime, but who protects him?Jim Gordon is called upon by an unlikely set of people to find Bruce Wayne aka Batman, solve the case he was working on before he disappeared, and find him before Gotham gets wind that its caped protector is missing.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have gore/violence typical to the story.
> 
> As always, fell free to message me over on tumblr at zsaszmatazz.tumblr.com if you want anything more specific about warnings or tags.
> 
> This story will update Mondays and Thursdays.

Jim Gordon groans as he comes to in what appears to be the back seat of a moving vehicle. He sits up with a jerk and his right wrist protests as a handcuff digs into his skin. A quick survey of his person reveals two things; other than feeling groggy he appears to be unharmed, and his gun is missing.

“Good morning Mr. Gordon,” a familiar voice greets him cheerily, and he looks to the front passenger seat to glare at the Penguin. “Glad you could join us.”

“We have a busy night ahead of us,” the driver, the Riddler, beams at him through the rear view mirror.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Now James,” Penguin twists in his seat so they’re looking eye to eye, “that would ruin the surprise.”

“I’m not a fan of surprises.” Quick assessment, no weapons within reach in the back, no objects in his pockets to unlock the cuff from himself or the car door. He needs to find an opening.

He sees a glint of something in the cup holder, Penguin notices his line of sight, and he throws a punch, landing it right on Penguin’s right eye. He shouts, and Riddler turns the car sharply, throwing Jim to the side and out of reach of what he assumes is his gun.

“I suggest you sit quietly Detective, unless you want my partner to shoot you with your own gun,” he says this angrily and shoves the gun into Penguin’s hands. Penguin glares at Jim, right eye already looking a bit puffy, and aims the gun at Jim’s face.

In a fistfight he could overpower the Penguin easily, but when he has a gun Jim’s odds are slim. Penguin’s a pretty decent shot these days, and he’s not letting his guard down after the punch. He’ll have to wait for another opening, but in the meantime he takes a small measure of pride for giving Penguin the start of what will become a painful looking shiner.

The drive is quiet, tensions are high, and as Riddler pulls up to the gate for Wayne manor and continues up the drive Jim has to quickly reassess the situation. They have men inside, probably, and possibly Bruce as a hostage, no, it’s almost definite. He just has to figure out what they’re after, how many men, and if he has time to call in backup before he gets swarmed.

Once parked, the two criminals up front get out of the car and Riddler opens the back door, dragging Jim out so he’s leaning over enough to keep the handcuff slack. He can see Penguin still aiming the gun, at a distance far enough away to have plenty of time to shoot if Jim struggles. For now, he lets Riddler move the cuff from the car door and onto his free wrist; his hands are in front, which might prove helpful later. They start up the steps, the Riddler’s hand guides him forward with a small nudge to his shoulder.

Riddler knocks twice on the front door and shifts his weight to a more comfortable stance. He’s in front of Jim, Penguin behind, and if he can just catch a reflection off a window he might have a chance to get the gun. He can shoot in handcuffs, although not well, but all he needs is someth-a window. It’s blurry, faint, but he can see the way Penguin’s elbows are slack, the way he’s favoring his bad leg. Trip him, get the gun, and demand the key.

He nods to himself and sweeps his leg back; Penguin goes down hard on the stone steps and the gun clatters away. He lunges, grabs his gun with both hands and points it at them both, expecting an onslaught of men to come pouring out the front door.

Instead he finds Riddler bent over, kneeling down in the snow and easing Penguin upright, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his damaged thigh, and, “Alfred?”

“If I’d known the two of you intended to bring in Detective Gordon I’d have saved us all the trouble and just given him a call.” Alfred hands Penguin’s cane to him and between the cane and Riddler’s help he’s upright, but seething. “James, if you’d be so kind, please lower your weapon and join us in the parlor. We’ve a great deal to discuss.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mild gore here. Going to post this tonight while my internet is still working. Expect another chapter in a few days.

He’s holding his gun on his lap, seemingly relaxed, but ready to shoot either of the men across from him in a moment’s notice should they reveal a secret weapon hidden behind their backs. They’re both eyeing him angrily; Riddler’s holding an ice pack wrapped in a towel against Penguin’s swelling eye. At some point Alfred gave him a heating pad for his leg, why he’d bother is anybody’s guess, and excuses himself to prepare some tea.

Jim decides to break the silence first. “No umbrella today?”

“The cold bothers his leg,” Riddler says calmly, then angrily adds, “so does being knocked over on stone steps apparently.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“You didn’t, actually,” Penguin snaps.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he gives them a hard stare, “and I’m not sorry. You kidnapped me and threatened me with my own gun.”

“It was a perfectly cordial trip,” Riddler quips, “until you had to fly off the handle! Violence begets violence Detective Gordon.”

Like either of them can say a damn thing.

Alfred returns with a serving tray and begins handing out steaming cups of tea. “I’ve made something non-caffeinated in the hopes of keeping our energies at a more amicable level.”

“Thanks,” Jim takes a cup and takes a drink.

“Thank you,” Riddler accepts a cup.

“Yes, thank you Alfred.” Penguin glares as he adds, “at least  _ someone  _ here understands hospitality.”

He can’t believe this. “You put me in handcuffs.”

“Gentlemen, Detective Gordon, not that I am suggesting your argument is tedious, but if we could please get to the matter at hand I would be appreciative. And if you could please put your gun away for my peace of mind I’d be very grateful.”

“It’s a ransome, right?” Jim watches the two “gentlemen” smirk over their teacups as he holsters his gun, “and we’re trying to handle this quietly?”

“You’re going to  _ wish  _ it were that simple Detective Gordon,” Penguin replies, looking smug.

Alfred takes control of the room with a quiet clap of his hands, “in order for us to continue, we need to get everyone up to speed,” he gestures to Jim, “In this case, you’re the one that needs getting caught up, Detective Gordon. In regards to a certain vigilante that has been running around Gotham, any suspicions you may be harboring about Master Bruce’s recreational hobbies are, in fact, correct.”

“His hobbies.”

Riddler interrupts, excitedly, “he flies in the night on synthetic wings, not mere man nor flying mammal, but a clever melding of the two.”

He looks to Alfred, who nods, “he is the Batman.” Jim looks to the Riddler and Penguin, and back to Alfred, gesturing at them in confusion, “missers Nygma and Cobblepot are already aware.”

“They know Bruce is Batman?” he asks, incredulous. “Bruce is Batman. How long?”

“Sometime around his early twenties he began this little project of his.”

“Right,” he rubs his face.

“We’ve known since he was 20,” Riddler boasts. “It’s a pity you’re not near as perceptive as us.”

“So where is Bruce?” he asks, ignoring Riddler.

“That is why we’re here,” Alfred continues, “he was on a stakeout of sorts based on information provided by Mr. Nygma. This information suggested Gotham has a new serial murderer, and he anticipated it being a rather involved case. It’s been 48 hours since our last successful point of contact.”

“48 hours? Jesus Christ why’d you wait this long?”

“We have an established agreement, should he be in a place where communication is impossible. He will contact me within a 48 hour window if able, and if he does not I am to organize either a rescue party, or if too much time has passed, his funeral. I’d prefer the former option.”

“We should call the precinct, get some more man-power.” Jim’s already deciding what detectives to call in first.

“I have been told that would be unwise, given the nature of his disappearance.”

“By them?” he stands, eyebrows up in alarm, “they’re obviously involved with this disappearance. They’re toying with you.” He marches over to them, and Riddler stands, “where’d you put him? The mansion? Iceberg Lounge?”

“No need to get testy,” Riddler lunges and snatches the gun from Jim’s holster. “Standard issue glock with a small dent on the handle, and,” he removes the clip and in a few deft motions dismantles his gun, “some buildup near the firing mechanism. You really should clean your weapon if you don’t want it blowing up in your face, literally.”

“I cleaned it last week,” he defends, taking the pieces back, minus the clip, which appears to have vanished. “How’d you do that so fast?”

“Please, disassembly is just another puzzle. I can make an explosion but I can’t light a match, and catching me could prove fatal.”

“A bullet,” he scowls down at his firing mechanism, and the buildup. “This going to be a regular thing with you?”

“Yes,” Alfred sighs, exasperated, “if you could, Mr. Nygma, explain the case you brought Master Bruce the other night. It may clear up their insistence to avoid involving the GCPD.”

“Yes! There have been thirteen people reported missing in the last two months.”

“There’s more missing person’s reports than that,” Jim corrects.

“Yes but we’re going to focus on these thirteen. Oswald,” he nods and Penguin reaches beside the couch for a file bag. He sets it on the coffee table and opens it, taking out cas files and handing them to Jim. “These thirteen people-”

“Where did you get these?”

“I borrowed them, not important,” he takes a notepad out of the bag. “These thirteen cases are unlinked according to the GCPD, but I-”

“These are GCPD property,” he says angrily as he flips through the folders, noting the GCPD stamp on every one.

Riddler gives him an unamused look, and continues, “I’ve found a link between these-”

“There are sixteen files here.”

“Will you let me finish!” he snaps. He takes a deep breath. “The extra three are murders, all with an unusual cause of death. The corpses were all fairly intact, except the internal organs were in various stages of, and I quote, enzymatic induced liquification, which is not a real word but for the sake of our ME’s reputation I’ll ignore their oversight.”

“Digestion?”

“Precisely. It was deduced that it was caused by a poisonous bite, from a snake most likely, according to their files, but upon examination of the bodies I found a single puncture wound, not two.”

“How’d you examine the bodies?” Riddler smiles. “You don’t work for the GCPD anymore! You can’t just break into the labs and play around with bodies-”

Riddler begins shouting over him, “in each wound I found a poison with a plant origin, not snake.”

“A pla-” he huffs out a sigh, “Ivy.”

“Ivy,” Penguin agrees. “The next part is truly brilliant.”

RIddler beams, always one to enjoy getting his ego stroked, looking very pleased with himself. “I’ve found a distinct connection between the three murders, not accidental bites,  _ and  _ a theoretical link with all thirteen missing person’s cases in your hand. Every person on that list has been the cause of a significant, newsworthy event that negatively impacted the environment.”

“Damn,” Jim finally sits back down, begrudgingly impressed. “And the missing people?”

“Plant food,” Penguin answers cheerily. Jim’s thankful Alfred only served tea, though the warm liquid is no longer sitting well in his stomach.

“I presented this to Bruce, and he took over the investigation. Now, there’s one thing that really stands out here, and it’s the missing people.”

“They’re all well known figures,” he starts scanning the names more closely, “some of these are from global companies.” He leafs through some newspaper clippings in each file, the environmental damage they caused. “Did you add these?”

“I had some free time and access to some newspaper archives,” Riddler answers.

“Are these from the library?” Jim belatedly remembers he’s been spreading his fingerprints all over these stolen files. They both shrug, but they’re smiling. “I don’t know why I asked.”

“Do you know what’s odd about Ivy killing all these people to feed her plants?” Penguin asks.

“Are you going to tell me or are you going to make me answer another damn riddle?”

“For the interest of time, I’d prefer it if you just told him,” Alfred requests.

“It doesn’t fix anything,” Riddler exclaims. “Their crimes are all old. She’s being retroactive.”

“Why?”

“Her reasoning is unclear, but it’s good news for Bruce,” Penguin says, “because he’s done nothing to fall into her current MO.”

“We propose that Ivy has Bruce, possibly as a captive, possibly under her spell, helping to lure her victims to more accessible places. Her pheromones can control weaker minded people, and if she’s kept him captive long enough he might be more susceptible. 48 hours, perhaps?”

Jim shakes his head, “so we’re going to go against her? Is that the plan?”

“Correction,  _ you’re  _ going against her,” Riddler explains.

“ _ I’m  _ going against her? And  _ why  _ can’t I bring backup exactly?”

“Well, for one, all of the evidence you currently hold is stolen. Bruce and Batman are not synonymous in the public eye. If you tell the GCPD Bruce Wayne is missing they’ll wonder why you don’t call in Batman to help. If you admit Batman is missing then crime could potentially skyrocket. If anyone pokes around enough to realize they’re  _ both  _ missing this mansion becomes a giant target.”

Jim scratches his head, “Alfred?”

“I have already agreed that discretion is best while we handle this situation.”

Jim rubs his eyes, “Alfred,” he gestures away from these two, “a minute?”

They step into an adjacent room out of earshot. Alfred looks worried, understandably, but something isn’t right about all this. He knows who those two are, what they’ve done, what they still  _ do _ , but Alfred’s taking their word on this. “Are they threatening you?”

“I’ve received no calls from any sort of kidnapper if that’s what you mean.”

“Not,” he fumes quietly, “from  _ them _ ,” he points. “If they’re lying, if this is all some elaborate heist or kidnapping, I’ll bring them in right now. I have my gun, well,” he pulls the pieces out of his pocket, “he has my clip but I can still take them in a fistfight.”

“I understand your concern and appreciate that you’re extending that concern to my well being, but I too, can handle myself in a fight if you’ve forgotten.” Jim side-eyes Riddler and Penguin. “And I’m afraid you’re still missing a few pieces of information.”

“I’m listening.”

“Missers Nygma and Cobblepot have provided case information to Master Bruce in the past, countless times. Do you recall a time when the Joker attempted to inject the carnivorous animals at the zoo with Venom?”

“No, what? He never tried that.”

“Because Master Bruce was able to stop him before he could try.” Alfred nods in Riddler and Penguin’s direction. “They gave him the lead.”

“How could they know that was his plan?”

“It’s my understanding that Mr. Nygma has a high proficiency with information gathering.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re trustworthy.”

“No of course not.” Alfred sighs quietly, “but the fact that for nearly eight years now I have, on more than one occasion, woken to the sound of the doorbell ringing and those two attempting to drag Master Bruce inside because he’s injured or unconscious.”

Jim blinks, confused, “why would they do that? They’ve  _ both  _ tried to kill him more than once, if I’m not mistaken.” He’s certain  _ all  _ of Gotham’s villains have tried to get rid of Batman several times.

“If they truly wanted to kill him they could have done it more than once already. They’ve had every opportunity.”

He glances back at the two criminals, at how calmly they’re both talking, pouring over papers and files. “I don’t understand them. Riddler used to be with  _ us _ , you know.”

“Mr. Nygma used to work in forensics with your precinct, did he not?”

“Yeah, and he used his knowledge to frame me for a murder. Of an officer Alfred. I doubt he ever had a true sense of justice. He was always just looking for a puzzle to solve.”

“Cases are often like puzzles, in my experience. I would call that a good fit for his personality.”

He can’t argue that. Riddler, before, he was weird, but he did good work. “Alfred, that’s all in the past now. They’re not good people. They’re barely people at all anymore.”

“Good, bad, these terms are very black and white, Detective, and I don’t think this is that simple. On the first night they brought Master Bruce home, it was rather cold, snow coming down fast. He would’ve died had they left him. I was cautious, but grateful all the same. They suggested a deal of sorts, at my request. If they occasionally provide us with information regarding their rivals’ plans, and aid for Bruce in his early years, we will, ah,  _ prioritize _ these cases over their business dealings.”

“Alfred-”

“I know how it sounds Detective Gordon, and Bruce and I have discussed this at great length many times. We have found that, while far from ideal, we cannot ignore the benefits of receiving this information. They simply have ties to the criminal community we are not privy to.”

“So they weed out the other criminals to make room for themselves, all with your help.”

“As I said, far from ideal.”

“Saving him protects their investments.” Of  _ course  _ they found a way to make a good deed benefit themselves. “He’s like their puppet.”

“Yes of course, unfortunately, you are most likely right. However one thing remains a mystery. I’m not trying to kid myself Detective Gordon, but when they first saved him there was no investment to save. I believe they hold a certain fondness for the boy, Mr. Cobblepot especially. Whatever the reason, they are helping, and that’s all I can ask of the few people that know Bruce’s secret.”

“And  _ they  _ decided to drag me in on this.” He’s not going to start trusting them. There’s nothing they could do to ever earn that from him. “Let me get a few guys in on this to help. I know some people I can trust from the GCPD.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust your judgement Detective Gordon, although you’re certainly welcome to take offence, but there is a reason Master Bruce decided he needed to become the Batman. Not every officer is as trustworthy as you.”

He’d like to defend his precinct, to claim they’ve successfully thrown out all the crooked cops ages ago, but he can’t, not in good faith. Because somehow Riddler still gets inside the building without being stopped, and in all the years he’s been there he’s seen little to no progress made against the Penguin’s empire. And Batman, Bruce, the kid’s secret needs kept, for the good of the city and for his own safety.

“I need to set some ground rules before we move forward.”

“Of course.”

He turns towards the doorway and back around immediately. “Right so,” he didn’t give himself time to really ‘take in the sights’ so to speak, but he knows a kiss when he sees one. “That’s a thing I did not know.”

“I’d suggest you hide any hangups you have regarding displays of affection, because if they find out you’re at all bothered they will be merciless.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They walk back into the parlor and Jim clears his throat to pull the two away from their hushed conversation. “Gentlemen,” they both look up, Riddler settles with his arms on the back of the couch, Penguin leans on him (Merciless.), “I have a hell of a lot of reservations about all of this, so if we’re going to work together I have some requirements.”

Penguin nods. “I’m sure you think they’re fair and reasonable. You always were straight as an arrow, Jim.”

“What?”

“An honest man, a good guy, straight as an arrow, as the saying goes,” Riddler smiles.

Merciless.

“Number one,” he ignores them by jumping right into his list, “this is important. When we’re done here, you two are going back to Arkham.” They start laughing quietly. Jim feels his blood pressure rising. “What now.”

“It would be nice to visit again, see some associates; we could catch up with Zsasz,” Penguin says.

“Oh that is always a delight,” Riddler agrees with him.

Jim blinks a few times, “what the hell are they talking about?”

“It’s been my understanding, from Master Bruce’s account, that the two of them tend to come and go as they please.”

Of course they do.

“Two, we need anything from GCPD I will be there, no exceptions.”

“I’m sure I can find some exceptions,” Riddler taps his chin, “for instance, if you’re dead.”

He’s starting to get a headache, “three,  _ I  _ have a gun, not you two. And give me back my clip.”

“What has a face but cannot see?”

“A clock,” he sighs. It’s easier to just give him an answer and not fight it, “wait is it in a clock?”

“Grandfather clock. Listen to your elder Jim,” Riddler points across the room. “Behind the face.”

Maybe he can “accidentally” shoot them both and convince his boss it was self defense. “Four, if something is urgent, no riddles.” Riddler starts getting a stormy, tantrumy look on his face, but he nods. “And no running business while we work together. I don’t condone criminal activity.”

“It’s called  _ organized  _ for a reason, James,” Penguin spits.

“So you can organize around this.” He sits back down in the chair across from them. “Do we have a deal?”

“I have one request,” Alfred pipes up, “if possible, I request we all reside here in order to avoid any wasted time trying to meet somewhere. Gentlemen, your usual guest room is prepared.”

“Usual?” he exclaims.

“And Detective Gordon, I have a room prepared for you as well, if you’ll follow me please.” He does, only so they can speak again. “Normally I’d recommend separating work spaces from leisure spaces, but I assumed you would prefer a room with a large desk.”

It  _ is  _ large, oak, and butted up against a window overlooking the backyard. Snow falls steadily, but there’s no wind. A peaceful night, if he pretends hard enough.

“Usual, huh?”

“I’m not about to turn people away in severe weather, them included, especially if they’ve just returned Master Bruce here safely.” He steps out into a hall. “Have a good night Detective Gordon.”

“Alfred,” he pauses, “we should start tonight so we can figure out a plan.”

“I’m not going to stop you from working on a plan, but the snow will make travel more difficult, and I’ve found critical thinking is often better after one gets some proper rest. This will also allow yourself some time to process all you’ve learned.”

“I’ll consider it, thanks.” He sets the pieces of his gun on the desk to reassemble later. “Alfred,” he calls out before he leaves, “do you trust them?”

“I trust them about as far as I can throw them, Detective, but they have earned my respect no matter how begrudgingly I have bestowed it upon them, and I believe that counts for something.”


	3. Chapter 3

On a good night Jim gets about four hours of sleep. Last night he got about three disjointed hours, plus a few moments of panic, worrying that Bruce has already liquefied somewhere. At some point overnight the snow picked up and Jim wakes in the early dawn hours to find at least four new inches on the ground.

“At least it’s stopped.”

He’s the first one awake in the mansion. Jim makes a pot of coffee, anticipating he’ll need the extra caffeine to keep himself going today. He takes a cup back to the guest room and sips at it as he recleans his gun and assembles the pieces. When he first gets started he has a sinking feeling in his stomach, followed by a bout of uncertainty as he turns the pieces of his gun over and over, and it makes him wonder if the Riddler may have dismantled it to a point where Jim will have to ask for help to get it back together, but half a cup of coffee in he’s gotten all the pieces together, minus his clip, which he neglected to retrieve from behind the clock face.

“Christ,” he rubs his face, “what did I agree to?”

Jim relocates to be closer to the coffee and skim the Gotham Times. Alfred wakes next, and blinks in surprise when he finds Jim sitting at the kitchen table and reading a paper. “I had not expected anyone else to be awake at this hour.”

“I don’t sleep a lot,” he lifts his mug of coffee in greeting and takes a drink, “I made some coffee. Good roast.”

“I was planning on preparing a light breakfast. If you’re willing and able, or in the mood to harass the two of them, you could wake them up so we can get started on our plan.”

“Can do,” he says as he gets up out of his chair. He refills his mug of coffee and gestures across the room, “this way?”

“Up the stairs, and then on the right side. First room after the lavatory.”

He follows Alfred’s directions and knocks quietly on the door past the bathroom. There’s no response, no sound at all, and he rolls his eyes before opening the door slowly.

They’re asleep, Penguin on his side, Riddler on his back. He assumed they wouldn’t be awake, assumed they wouldn’t put any extra effort into helping without a strong shove in the right direction.

For a pair of crime lords, or whatever they’re calling themselves these days, he expected them to be lighter sleepers than this. He kicks the bedframe a few times, lightly, and Riddler stirs, head turning to face Jim and a hand sloppily wiping at his eyes.

“Morning.”

“I come in the night… wait, that’s the third verse.” He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs his glasses. “I weaken all men for hours each day. I show you strange visions while you are awa-”

“Sleep. Do you start _ every  _ morning with riddles?”

“Yes,” comes a sleepy mumble from across the bed. Penguin hasn’t moved from his side, facing away from Jim. Jim’s eyebrows raise in surprise when Riddler’s hand swings over and brushes against Penguin’s shoulder in a fond gesture.

“We’re having a meeting in the kitchen, ten minutes. I made coffee.”

“How thoughtful,” Riddler lifts his glasses back up off his eyes. “You’re aware that caffeine only stops you from getting  _ more  _ tired, and isn’t actually a means of increasing energy.”

“I’ll take it into consideration, thanks. Ten minutes.”

He shakes his head as he leaves the room. His mental picture never included this. Villains either don’t sleep, or sleep in some crazy, back-ass-wards way involving coffins or being upside down or something, not this, this weirdly domestic,  _ normal  _ sleep that everyone else does.

Forget coffee, he’s going to need liquor to get through this case.

He grabs the case files on his way back through the house and spreads them out on the kitchen table. Thirteen disappearances, and three murders. Jim puts them in chronological order, making a rough timeline for the disappearances. The murders are more recent, possibly Ivy’s gotten a bit sloppy, although it’s possible she’s just decomposing the bodies slowly, and someone happened upon these three by chance.

The part that worries him the most is these were all deemed accidental, and Gotham’s smack dab in the middle of a fairly severe winter. Where the hell are people finding snakes? Correction, where do people  _ think  _ they’re finding snakes? The single puncture has to be from Ivy’s vines.

He wonders if something about the bodies themselves made Ivy not want to use them. An illness, maybe, or… he opens up all the files again, this time looking at the past news articles.

As he works Riddler and Penguin shuffle into the kitchen, still in pajamas and robes, and both shoot him an irritated look as they make their way over to the coffee maker. They come around the table to stand in front of Jim, mugs in hand and scowls on their faces. Notably, Penguin’s eye is, in fact, very bruised, but the ice from yesterday helped with the swelling.

“What?”

“I rudely awaken people in the early morning, who am I?”

“Jim Gordon.”

“I drank a whole pot of coffee and don’t make more for the rest of the team even though I told them I’d made a pot. Who. Am. I?” Riddler slams his empty mug on the table.

“Jim Gordon.” Penguin sneers as he does the same.

“I-”

“Why am I suddenly the bad guy in the room?” He will never cease to be amazed how well these two play the victim card. “There are more beans by the coffee maker. Grinder’s in the cabinet.”

“It’s a matter of courtesy James,” Penguin says as he begins making his way back around the table, leaning heavily on his cane.

“He alright?” he asks Riddler.

“Morning ache,” he answers. Riddler rounds the table and watches as they start preparing some more coffee. The smell of bacon and eggs tears him away from his work long enough to watch Alfred bring in a tray with serving dishes heaped with eggs and bacon, hash browns, and a pitcher of orange juice.

“This is a light breakfast?” he jokes. Alfred nods to him and sets down the tray. “Thanks Alfred.”

“At least someone in this mansion is cordial,” Penguin says loudly as the sips at a fresh cup of coffee. Jim rolls his eyes, and catches himself before he lets himself relax. He’s  _ not  _ going to let this feel comfortable. It’s the pajamas, the coffee, the sloppy way they’re both carrying themselves as they begin eating standing up; it’s the most human they’ve both acted in years. He shakes his head and turns back to the papers spread out across the table.

Alfred joins him once the other two have started eating. “Have you learned anything from the files Detective?”

“I have a few questions we need to answer,” he pulls out the three murder files. “If Ivy is the cause of these disappearances, why did we find these victims? What makes them no good for her plants?”

Riddler leans over the table and skims each page, looks at the photos and biographies, and smiles. “What? What did you see?”

“Sometimes I glow or crackle; but getting a closer look may rewrite your DNA.”

Jim blinks a few times and shakes his head, “what is he trying to say?”

“Glows, altered DNA.” Riddler stares at Jim, exasperated.

“Give him about an hour,” Penguin explains, like an apology, “and the riddles will make more sense, I promise.” Riddler gives him an irritated look and Penguin shrugs.

“Radiation,” Alfred says, and the Riddler nods.

“Each of these victims’ crimes against nature involved a radioactive isotope. I posit that Ivy began using their bodies for plant food as normal, but possibly was able to detect traces of radiation in their vital organs.”

“None of them were sick.” Jim mentions as he rereads the newspaper clippings.

“No, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t harboring some latent radioactive material. I  _ could  _ possibly determine what types of radiation each person had, but I’ll need to examine the bodies more closely.”

“No, no, we don’t need the specifics. I just want loose ends tied up.”

“From a scientific perspective not knowing the type of radiation is a loose end.”

“No,” Jim moves the folders back into place. “We know it’s Ivy who’s responsible, we just need to find her. Where is she staying, Arkham, right?” he asks as he grabs a pad of paper. He looks between Riddler and Penguin. “Well?”

“One, she’s probably not in Arkham, but aside from that, what makes you think we know where she’s staying?” Penguin asks.

“Come on, this is supposed to be your area of expertise.”

“If she was staying in any of our territory we would have no issue, but she changes her winter location every year.” Penguin looks at Riddler, “she was in one of our warehouses last year if I’m not mistaken.”

“Correct, by the river.”

“As long as she can access clean water and some warmth she’s fine.”

“So, most of Gotham,” Jim tosses the notebook on the table. “Any bright ideas?”

Riddler taps his chin. Jim braces himself for another damn riddle. “Kyle traverses the city as a whole, not just one territory.”

“Kyle,” he blinks, still a little thrown about the lack of a riddle, “ _ Selina  _ Kyle? She’s in Arkham last I heard.” They both burst out laughing. “What now?”

“Ed, he thinks Selina is in  _ Arkham _ ,” Penguin manages to say before doubling over.

“You think  _ we  _ come and go too much? She doesn’t stay there  _ overnight _ .”

“Unless it’s raining,” Penguin adds. “She doesn’t like getting wet.”

“So where is she?”

“This space is only  _ a part  _ of a building, but she calls it home.”

“Her apartment, sure,” he sets down his mug and takes the pad of paper after Riddler scribbles down an address, thankfully not in the form of a riddle. “I’ll go find Kyle, see what she knows. You two scour the newspapers for more missing people or questionable murders.”

“If you let me into the GCPD I could more effectively-”

“No, for the last time. Use the internet, newspapers, whatever you want, but stay here.” He holds out a hand, and ignores the realization that he’s done this same thing to get a dog to stay. “Alfred, thanks for breakfast,” he quickly shoves a few pieces of bacon in his mouth, “I’ll be back before I go to Ivy’s so we can compare what we figured out. Give me your car keys.”

“Why would we do that?” Penguin asks, suspicious for whatever reason he thinks he gets to feel that way.

“You kidnapped me, and drove me here. I don’t have a car here, and I need to drive into the city.”

“I don’t see an issue,” Riddler points over to the counter, where Jim finds a set of keys, “the car is stolen anyway.”

He pauses with his hand hovering over the keys. “Did you bring  _ anything  _ to this mansion that wasn’t stolen?”

Penguin smiles, “define stolen James.”

“I second that, because  _ stolen  _ is such a loose term. For instance, we could have just gotten a good  _ deal _ on the car.”

“But if I were you, I would avoid speeding, because the plates are real but a cop wouldn’t really like the part where we took them off a truck.”   
Jim briefly considers just driving out of town, out of the city limits and down south, somewhere where things like this aren’t  _ normal. _

-

Jim crunches ice and snow under his boots as he walks the back alleyways near Selina Kyle’s apartment. At least, he assumes he’s walking the right direction to get to her apartment. He hopes it’s still her apartment, but he’s under the impression that she doesn’t actually  _ pay  _ for this place, otherwise the police would have gone there to find her. It doesn’t help that, while Riddler gave him the address to a building, the other instructions include ‘climb the fire escape’ and ‘knock on the fourth floor window’.

The district the building is in isn’t exactly a shining example of wealth and prosperity. It isn’t a shithole either, admittedly, but it is a known crime area, be it drugs or prostitution or, in Selina’s case, a place to stash her stolen items until she can sell them to the highest bidder. He finds the building easily enough, and he ties the band around his trench coat a bit tighter and begins climbing the fire escape. He isn’t necessarily out of shape, but he’s not exactly spry either, so he takes his time climbing the cold, wet-slick metal ladders up to the fourth floor.

He lightly taps on her window, and at least five cats look over at him, “Selina,” he calls out, “Selina Kyle?”

He hears the thunk of a window going up fast and the tink of metal on stone as, presumably, Selina aka Catwoman aka somehow-always-the-pain-in-Jim’s-ass dives out her window and onto the roof. He scrambles up the final leg of the fire escape in time to watch Selina artfully dive off a roof two buildings away.

“God damn it Selina.” he slowly climbs back down to the street level and pulls out his phone. Someone at the mansion answers on the third ring, “hello?”

“Hello Detective Gordon,” Alfred greets. “Have you made any progress regarding Miss Kyle?”

“I hit a wall with Selina. She bolted. Let me talk to Penguin or Riddler, I need to figure out where she would go.”

“I’m afraid they’ve retired to the East drawing room. Last I checked they were asleep, and I’m assuming that won’t have changed since then.”

“Well, I guess they’ve behaving themselves,” he mumbles, “did they make any progress?”

“Almost immediately after you left they discussed whether or not it would be worth ignoring your request and leaving to break into the GCPD. Following their decision to stay, they read the paper and ate the rest of the breakfast I prepared. Missers Nygma and Cobblepot found nothing in the local paper, or the newspaper website. Mr. Nygma attempted to connect remotely to the GCPD database using a laptop he requested, but was unable to connect due to the limitations of the machine, and the two sulked off because I would not allow them to use Master Bruce’s equipment.”

“And the decided to take a nap.”

“It appears so, Detective Gordon.”

“This is insane,” he rubs his eyes.

“If I may ask, which part do you find the least sane?”

“Gotham, this whole partnership we’ve made to find Bruce,” he sits on the stairs for Selina Kyle’s building and rests his chin in his free hand, “those two. They’re… they’re  _ monsters  _ Alfred. I know they’ve helped Bruce but they’re bad,” (I don’t think this is that simple) he hesitates, “they’re not good people. And this morning we had coffee together, like none of that  _ matters _ .”

“Yes, I know, Detective, and I understand your reservations and doubts about their assistance in this matter. You’re welcome to work independently from them, if need be.”

He looks down the alley, at the fresh snow and haphazard cat paw print trails near the dumpsters. “I don’t think I have a choice. For Bruce’s sake, I’ll deal. But I’m not happy about it.”

“I know, and I cannot thank you enough for your help. If you have concerns regarding their “monstrous” behavior, feel free to share them with me.”

“I can handle it when they’re monsters, that’s familiar territory, it’s when they start looking like people that I have trouble.”

Alfred is quiet for a second, then he answers, “I find that most people are at their most human in the mornings, before all other preconceived notions of oneself and one's reputation are fully in effect. They are, to put it simply, not awake enough to be the people you expect them to be.”

Jim wonders if the two have ever tried hypnotherapy, or any sort of helpful therapy at all now that he thinks about it, but from what he’s seen from their Arkham files, they’re supposed to be “beyond help” aside from possibly sorting through a few personal demons.

“Are you brave enough to go wake them up for me, or do you have any ideas?”

“I can attempt to rouse them from their slumber, but if I may suggest, if you can’t find her by looking, you may want to just stay put. She’s bound to return to her apartment sooner or later.”

“Maybe,” he rubs his chin and  _ thinks _ .

“Mr. Nygma has requested I ‘go to hell’, but I believe Mr. Cobblepot is upright enough to speak with.”

“Great, thanks.” He waits until he hears some grumbling on the other line before asking, “you actually awake?”

“James,” Penguin yawns into the receiver, and mumbles something that sounds like, ‘I was sleeping’ but comes out in a jumble.

“Selina ran, where do I find her?”

“Outside.”

He didn’t sign up for this. “Come on, think for me. She worked for you for God’s sake.”

He’s quiet, and Jim suspects he’s fallen back to sleep until he hears him mumble, “Flea.”

“Flea? Is that another one of your old associates?”

“No no, place. Kids all over. Fences.”

“Make some sense,” he says, irritated.

“Fences, you know, the ones that buy the stolen items to sell. I think she’s an independent.”

Finally they’re getting somewhere. “What’s the address?”

He jots down the street the building is on and hangs up. Briefly, he glances up at Selina’s place to make sure she’s not slipping back inside, but he only sees a tabby cat prowling around on the fire escape. Jim folds up his notepad and shoves it in a pocket before starting back down the street towards the car.


	4. Chapter 4

The Flea is bustling with kids and teenagers, and plenty of other homeless residents of Gotham. Jim is sticking out like a sore thumb, and he shoves his hands into his pockets to hopefully avoid letting any of the more savvy kids nick his wallet. Selina isn’t out in the open, but why would she be? Fences aren’t exactly known for wandering around within dozens of people’s line of sight.

He tries a few back rooms, shuts off the part of his brain that is screaming at him to make a few arrests and get these kids off the street, and after four unsuccessful rooms he sees Selina’s goggles from behind a cracked window.

Jim waits until a group of teenagers leave the room wish cash in hand, and slips inside. Selina spares him one quick glance as she organizes some watches and wallets, then snaps her head up to meet his eyes. She doesn’t betray any shock on her face, but she moves cautiously as she settles into what appears to be a comfortable, relaxed position.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she drawls.

“Selina.”

“Cat, as I’ve said before,” she says with a smile.

“Right, listen, I’m not here to arr-”

“Shh,” she betrays her calm for one second to glare at him, then smiles again. “You wanted to see the watches?” She stands and motions with one finger for him to come over, and he follows her to a case. “These are all genuine- did you get lost on the way to work Gordon?” she says in a hushed whisper. “Because this is  _ not  _ the GCPD in case you’re getting a little confused in your advanced age.”

“I just need to talk to you,” he whispers back. “I need information.”

“Okay, but not  _ here _ . You do know where you are, right? There are a lot of people that will nick your stuff or worse, but being a cop, I’m sure you already knew that.” She closes the case, then locks it. “Follow me, okay? I’ll make sure you get out of here in one piece, more or less.”

“Follow you where?”

“My place, downtown, doesn’t matter, just  _ follow  _ me. Try to keep up Detective. It’ll be like a game of tag.” She smiles again. “Boys, I’m giving you the day off,” she says to two men, who’re sorting through their items. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she winks.

“Thugs of yours?”

“I move a large volume Detective,” she whispers, “and it’s not my fault if a girl has her hands full.” She walks out of the room and into the main area, then down a hallway. Jim follows quietly, waiting for her to run, bolt, something that will make this look like a chase. She puts her hand on a window, looks back to wink, and she’s out.

He breaks into a run, already falling behind. She ambles up and around a fire escape, over a dumpster, and continues climbing over and around obstacles like it’s nothing. Jim crashes after her, knocking over trash cans in his way and trying his best to keep up. He’s certainly not out of shape, but Selina could outrun him back when he was  _ thirty _ , and now he’s pushing fifty.

The chase continues until he climbs into his car, and starts driving for her apartment. He drives slow, watching Selina as she continues to jump and run across roofs and over fire escapes. She disappears over a roof once they reach her neighborhood, and Jim turns off the car in favor of going the rest of the way on foot. He breaks into an easy jog, then a full on run when Selina goes past her apartment and continues down the block, clearly trying to lose him after making him follow all this way.

“Stop! Selina!” He starts sprinting, and he’s nearly caught up, when he slips, no, something wraps around his leg, and he goes down hard in the snow, cold clumps ending up down the neck of his shirt and into his shoes.

Selina saunters over, smirking, and taps the trap around Jim’s ankles. “You didn’t think you could  _ actually  _ catch me did you Jim?”

“Selina, I couldn’t catch you when  _ I  _ was the one under thirty.”

“So,” she leans down and flicks a little of the snow off of Jim’s shoulder, “what brings you to me? Information, correct?”

“Yeah, but can you get this thing off me before we talk?” He’s not really in the mood to talk while lying in the snow.

“We can go inside my place and warm up.” She undoes the trap from his leg and offers him a hand, “if you promise to behave and not bother with any of the little trinkets I have in there.”

“Yeah, sure.” He needs this information. Whatever stolen items she has can’t be  _ that  _ hard to ignore.

-

He should not have come here.

Jim shifts uncomfortably in the dining room chair as Selina walks around the apartment, petting cats’ heads and offering them treats or milk. On almost every surface of Selina’s apartment Jim can see things he either knows were stolen or suspects they were, and every time he turns his head to ignore something he sees something else.

“I shouldn’t be here Selina.”

“Oh Jim, can’t you just turn a blind eye?”

“Cut the act Selina, I knew you when you were thirteen years old. Please, just, can you  _ hide  _ some of this? I’d have to be literally blind to not see any of this stuff.”

“We could always go back out in the cold if you’d prefer that,” she says, in the way that  _ doesn’t  _ make Jim feel like an old pervert just for listening to her talk, and she throws herself onto her couch sloppily, letting a few cats join her and get their hair everywhere.

That’s the other thing, this apartment is basically carpeted on all surfaces, because there are at least ten cats inside. Sure, some of them are thinner and probably spend most of their time outside, but some of them are almost definitely indoor cats. He suspects she must go to shelters often.

“In here is fine enough.” He’s doing this for Bruce. He can ignore his moral compass long enough to get him home safely, and  _ then  _ he can address this nightmare. “Based on your, ah,  _ wares  _ I’d say you’re doing well.”

“Business is good,” she stretches, “now, what did you want to talk with me about?”

“Ivy. Have you seen her around? I need to know where she’s staying.”

“Hm,” Selina taps her cheek while petting a cat as it demands attention, “this wouldn’t have anything to do with Batman would it?”

Jim shakes his head, “no, why do you say that?”

“Because he asked the very same thing a few days ago, and I haven’t seen him since. It’s not like him to not drop in every once and awhile. And Wayne manor has been awfully quiet.”

“Wh-why would that matter?”

“Jim, come on, I know he’s Batman. I wouldn’t forget that jawline, those,” she raises her eyebrows, “lips. Plus, what do you think I mean when I say he “drops in”?”

“Fine, okay, yes. He hasn’t made contact, and we’re worried something’s happened.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I told him. Our dear Ivy is over in the Arkham district. And before you ask, yes, I  _ have  _ seen her in the district, just not what building she’s in right now.”

“Arkham. She’s not in the asylum is she?” He would’ve known if she was, or at least been able to see it in the records.

“No, I think I remember her saying she wanted to try out Arkham Bridge Park this time around, they have that new little greenhouse on the south end, but who knows? She might have somewhere special she’s found to stay this year.” Selina gets up and opens her fridge. “Want anything?”

“I really can’t stay.” He shakes his head. “Plus, I’m not allergic, but I think even  _ I  _ would choke on the cat hair in here.”

“Suit yourself,” she pours some milk for herself and another serving into a bowl, which the cats swarm.

“Selina,” he stands and moves to the window. He’s gotten the impression that she barricaded the door years ago, based on the part where he can’t seem to find one leading to the rest of the building. “We might need your help. You know this city better than the planners.”

“That’s because they did a horrible job planning.”

“Well, in any case, we could really use you on our team.”

“Our team?”

He sighs, “I’ve got Penguin and Riddler on my side right now, I guess. Alfred’s there too, but he’s been shelved unless we’re desperate.”

“He  _ is  _ getting pretty old,” she nods to herself as she slides the window up for Jim. “What do you need from me?”

“I don’t know yet, but keep your phone on you.” He slings one leg out the window, “and do me a favor and stock up on some supplies in case we need to crash here. Food, medical supplies, anything you think we’ll need, really.”

“ _ Will _ you need to crash here? I’m not used to entertaining.”

“Like I said, I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to have a safe house ready to go in case we do.”

-

He needs some clean clothes.

He needs a lot of things, admittedly; his blood pressure medication, his ammo to replace the clip Riddler appears to have hidden  _ again,  _ first aid supplies to keep in the car, just in case, but clothes are high up on his list. His shoes aren’t terribly practical for the snow, mesh tennis shoes have never been the right choice in a Gotham winter, and he’s lacking a few layers to combat the biting wind and dropping temperatures.

As he starts the car he dials the mansion. He starts moving towards the main road, and someone picks up after four rings, “hello, Alfred?”

“Hello!” Penguin says, cheery and far too loud for a phone conversation. Jim lifts the phone away from his ear and winces. “Do you know what I usually do to people that wake me up when I’m trying to rest?” In a much less cheery voice he says, “I get rid of them.”

If he didn’t already suspect that the two of them actually seem to like Alfred he’d be worried. He assumes Alfred is making the free-loaders lunch. “We’re looking for a missing person. Get over it.”

“Detective,” Riddler says, either because he took the phone or because they’re sharing the receiver, “have you made any progress finding our feline-loving friend?”

“Ivy’s in the Arkham district.”

“Interesting, but effective. The old caves out there maintain a more comfortable temperature in the winter months. A cave’s year round temperature is actually the  _ average  _ of the region it’s found in, did you know that?”

“Selina thinks she might be in the old greenhouse, but we’ll keep the caves in mind. I’m stopping by my place to get some supplies, then we’re leaving once I get back to the manor.” He stops at a light and adds, “and put on something less conspicuous than your normal clothes unless you want to deal with the asylum staff trying to bring you back.”

“We’ll be the picture of inconspicuous.”

“We’ll take the liberty of get a few weapons in case she’s less than hospitable,” Penguin says.

“No guns,” he tells them before hanging up and turning onto the road leading to his apartment, and makes a mental checklist: clothes, obviously, since he got pulled away from his workout and only has a tee shirt under his coat, the rest of his ammo stash for his gun and his backup firearm he leaves in his desk, a first aid kit he keeps under his sink, and a scarf. he’s done dealing with snow getting into his jacket.

The apartment is quiet and empty; he’s not sure why he was worried about intruders. The GCPD isn’t investigating this disappearance, and unless Riddler and Penguin are planning something incredibly convoluted they probably haven’t told anyone he’s trying to find Bruce. More importantly, he didn’t tell anyone he was coming back here until ten minutes ago, and that’s what keeps him moving at a calm, quick pace until he’s packed a small bag and is out the door.

It’s because his guard is down that he doesn’t notice the tripwire outside the main door of his building, or the sleek figure of Selina climbing down towards him until  _ after  _ he’s flat on his back with another one of her traps on his ankles. “Selina,” he groans, “can’t you just call?”

“And ignore the chance to get you flat on your back?” she laughs, and unties his ankles, then offers a hand, which he takes. “When are you going to Arkham?”

“Today, as soon as possible. Why?”

“You should wait until night.”

“Night? For Ivy? Selina, we don’t have that much time to waste.”

“But you’re trying to fight a  _ plant _ , Jim. Don’t give her any advantages. No sun, no miracle grow, and no letting her turn your organs into plant food.”

“We’re trying to move quickly, Selina. Pretty soon people are going to figure out that Batman isn’t showing up to save the day anymore.”

“But it does you no good if you don’t survive long enough to get her to talk.”

He sighs, “alright. You’re right.”

“Of course I am. I know this city like the back of my paw. You need all the help you can get.”

“Is this your way of offering up some help when we go there?”

“Hell no,” she wrinkles her nose, “we’re not exactly seeing eye to eye right now, and I  _ think  _ someone wants me to go get supplies for my apartment. My schedule’s looking pretty packed today.”

“Great.”

“I’ll make sure I’m stocked for a war Jim. Just try to not lose any limbs, because I know what I’m doing but I’m not  _ that  _ good.”

“Thank you,” he picks up his bags and starts for his car, “really, any help is appreciated.”

“This city is too boring without little Bruce running around,” she starts making her way up Jim’s building, and glances down once she’s on the third floor, “so you better find him Detective, or I’ll never forgive you.”

“Me too,” he nods and walks down the sidewalk, “Selina-” he says as he turns back, but she’s already gone.He’s not sure what he would have said. Possibly “why did the Penguin know where to find you?” or “why doesn’t this feel hopeless”, but either way it leaves him wondering a few things about how convenient this has all been so far.


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred did make them lunch, and also prepared enough for Jim to pile a plate with salad and some finger sandwiches. He takes the plate with him along with his overnight bag, and holes up in a bathroom so he can shave and shower between bites. Recently his ‘salt and pepper’ hair has definitely been more salt than pepper, but he’s thankful he isn’t going bald at least. Regardless of his age signs, he feels more human after he’s done eating and getting cleaned up.

He’s busying himself with some of the leftover sandwiches and explains the plan to Alfred, “so, we need to confront her first in case she has Bruce there, but I’d like it if you could maybe figure out a profile for any potential future targets in case she hits again.”

“Yes of course. Master Bruce and I prepared a preliminary profile when he first received the case, but the people on the list are in constant flux depending on whether they are in their Gotham offices or not. I’ll prepare an updated version as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Detective, I do have one request before you confront Miss Pepper regarding Master Bruce’s disappearance. If possible, could you attempt to obtain a sample of her poison? I might be able to synthesize an antidote, and doing so without being under pressure may boost my chances of success.”

“Alright, but I’m not sure,” he figures out just  _ how  _ they would manage that part way through and shakes his head, “no. No way. I’m not letting him dig around in the victims’ bodies Alfred.”

“It is, of course, your choice Detective, although I must insist. The victims are far safer to confront given the alternative.”

“Did  _ he  _ put you up to this? Sorry,” of course Alfred wouldn’t go along with this plan normally, he must be under duress, “did he threaten you?”

“No of course not. I’m not terribly fond of the idea either, but given Master Bruce’s history, having suffered poisonings of all sorts in the past, I am reluctant to ignore taking precautions while the three of you potentially risk your lives to aid him.”

“We don’t have a lot of time to spare.”

“I inquired with Mr. Nygma earlier to determine how long it could potentially take. He is confident he could isolate any poison in an afternoon.”

Jim walks over to the table where the GCPD files are currently stacked and finds the three murder cases. The most recent case is less than a week old, but the other two have release papers in the files, the bodies already removed and buried in the ground. It’s likely, actually, that the most recent one is also gone, considering the ruling on the autopsy.

There’s no release paperwork in the file, and Jim finds that strange, but only until he finds a request for reexamination, signed and dated by Jim Gordon (which he knows he didn’t do) and he studies the document, shocked when he finds the captain’s signature on the bottom of the page.

“Son of a bitch,” he knew better than to trust them, and he did it anyway. He puts the file away and takes a moment to think.

Riddler and Penguin bring a case to Bruce, suggesting Ivy is behind some unusual killings.

Bruce goes to investigate, and ends up going missing.

The only people that know he’s missing are Penguin, Riddler, and Alfred.

Enter Jim, who’s told he can’t go to the police to request backup.

While he’s gone, Penguin and Riddler must’ve threatened Alfred to go along with this plan, and to let Riddler into the GCPD. The body must be a front. He wants more files, or to gain access to the database, probably to make his search for victims easier.

The most likely scenario is the Riddler and Penguin have Bruce held somewhere, captive, and either want some sort of ransom from Alfred that he’s not disclosing, or they really are completely, irreparably insane and are doing this just for kicks. It’s easy enough to pay Selina off, no offense to her intended, but he knows she’s not on the right side of the law most of the time. Ivy, he’s not sure what they did to get her to cooperate, but maybe just feeding her the information is enough.

“Where are they?”

“The parlor,” Alfred replies curtly. “Based on your appearance, Detective Gordon, you are not best pleased with something they’ve done, but I do hope you try to be careful, should any disagreement occur.”

Disagreement, no, this is more than some petty disagreement. They’re criminals, monsters, and he’s done being dragged around by them. He’s going to take them in like he should have when they first brought him here. They aren’t the kind of people he should be trusting to tell him the truth. As he enters the parlor he sets down his overnight bag and assesses the scene. Penguin is sitting on a couch, Riddler standing by the window, a glass of liquid in his hand.

“Detective,” he greets, “I trust Alfred told you about his request, and I know you’re reluctant to let me into the GCPD, but-” Jim rushes him and slams him against the wall so hard his glasses get knocked off, and his glass (water probably) ends up on the floor, a long crack marring the surface.

“Why did you do it?”

“Detective,” he holds his hands up, “I genuinely have no idea what you’re referring to.”

He slams him again, Riddler holds his head after the impact. Jim can hear Penguin moving around behind him, the unzipping of his bag, but he ignores it for now. “You forged my name, kept the body in limbo so you could play around at your leisure. I’m only mildly impressed because you filed it all correctly.”

“I wouldn’t sabotage your record Detective.” Jim grabs his shoulders and pins Riddler against the wall. “This feels like an overreaction.”

“It had to be you two. How’d you get Ivy to work with you? Did you promise to let her take over the Arkham District? The whole city?”

“Detective, I’d let go of him if I were you.” He turns towards Penguin and comes face to face with his secondary weapon.

“How’d you get that?” he asks, although he already knows the truth.

“It was in your bag. You should really keep your backup on your person to avoid things like this.” He uses his cane to come around to stand by Riddler, gun still pointing at Jim’s face. “Now I’d hate to shoot you, but I’m going to have to insist you let go of him, and I’m afraid if you don’t listen you’ll force my hand.”

Jim releases Riddler roughly and takes a step back, hands up by his ears. He’s armed, but it doesn’t actually matter because his secondary weapon isn’t loaded, and he didn’t hear Penguin putting any shells into the weapon. He’ll listen for now, assuming they’ll start spilling their secrets if they think they have the upper hand. Riddler bends over and retrieves his glasses from the floor and puts them on; the frames are bent, making them sit crookedly on his face.

“So why’d you do it?” Jim needs to understand this. He can’t accept that they’re doing all this for attention.

“What are you suggesting we did, Detective?” Penguin asks. Jim has a feeling he wants to shoot Jim anyway for roughing up Riddler.

“It’s all too clean, to perfectly lined up. You should have sent me to the wrong place to chase down Selina, or maybe strung me along when I was looking at the cases, thrown out some wrong ideas to make me struggle.”

“Are you saying we fabricated this case?” Penguin laughs.

“I’m saying you’re the ones that committed the crimes. The case is real, the culprit is the same, but you’re pulling the strings.”

“You sincerely believe we’re behind this?” Penguin says, looking genuinely confused.

“I spent weeks connecting the dots Detective. While your colleagues continued to not notice this spree  _ I  _ was monitoring the news, pulling newspaper articles, examining the evidence-”

“Breaking and entering. Desecration of human remains. Forgery. Murder.”

“Why can’t you accept that I did the research your office is incapable of completing,” Riddler sneers. “I’m smarter than the average police officer by leaps and bounds Detective, yourself included.”

“I should have arrested you,” he shakes his head. “Why do all this? Why waste everyone’s time? Your usual routine getting a little boring for both of you?”  _ That  _ strikes a nerve. Any amusement left on their faces is gone. Penguin hands RIddler the gun and walks right up in Jim’s face, sardonic expression and jabbing a finger in his chest, “if we were behind this you’d still be in the  _ dark  _ scrambling for a lead as Alfred picks out a nice casket, because without us Detective, you have nothing.”

“I know. You two would be more successful criminals if you didn’t crave all the attention. I’m placing you both under arrest, here, until I find him,” he grabs Penguin’s arm and turns him, face to face with Riddler. Jim can’t see Penguin’s face but he assumes it’s a mirror of Riddler’s rage, “and if you don’t return my gun you’re going to regret it.”

“Try me Detective,” Riddler cocks the gun and aims, “see if this is something worth regretting.”

“It’s not loaded, I leave the ammo in the box beside it to avoid things like this from happening.” Riddler fires the gun, and it clicks. “See? Now, turn around, hands on your head.”

If looks could kill, Jesus. Still, Riddler drops the gun and does as he’s told, lacing his fingers together against the back of his head. Jim puts Penguin’s hands in a similar position and backs up so he can grab the handcuffs from his bag (his usual pair and the extra with the sticky lock mechanism, he’s glad he decided to grab them) and cuff the two of them. He’s not sure why they’re cooperating, but decides it’s because their only weapon was a dud. Plus Jim can still win in a fight against them, given Penguin is essentially useless in a physical fight, and Riddler’s not much better.

He separates them, leading Penguin to the parlor couch, and helping when he has trouble walking (which earns him a scowl but what would he prefer? That Jim let him fall on his face?) and then bringing Riddler to the East drawing room.

“You’re costing us dearly Detective. Not to mention this horrible breach of trust.”

“Shut up. I’m done being mislead by the two of you.” He shuts the door after he leaves and nearly runs into Alfred in the hall.

“I suspected you would request a key,” he locks the drawing room, “and took the liberty of bringing it here.”

“Thanks Alfred. I can’t believe I trusted them.”

“If I may, Detective, what caused you to come to this conclusion? That they’re behind Master Bruce’s disappearance.”

“It just doesn’t add up. The body especially. How the hell did they know they would need the body available to extract the poison days before Bruce disappeared?” Alfred nods, but says nothing. “You don’t agree with me.”

“I’m not disagreeing either, Detective. If you feel there is evidence to support your theory then you should follow each lead, because if you are right, then going to Miss Pepper could very well be a trap.”

Jim nods, but he can tell Alfred’s not happy about this. “You want me to be wrong.”

“I would prefer this, yes, because it wouldn’t make me question the ten years of assistance they have provided.”

“Maybe they were genuine once, Alfred.” He’s not sure he believes that, but he has no proof to the contrary. “But people like them, people that do what they do, things change all the time, and in my experience, they usually don’t change for the better.”

“While you were speaking with them I updated the profile Master Bruce and I made in order to determine which people are likely targets.” He leads Jim through the parlor, which earns him another scowl from Penguin as he tries to strike Jim where he stands by looking at him hard enough. Jim nods to him once, allowing himself a second of feeling smug before returning to the task at hand. Alfred hands him a tablet and explains, “these five people are all potential targets based on a criteria Master Bruce made a few days ago. First, they are considered the head of whatever caused the disaster, second, and most obvious, they are alive, and third, they are rumored to be in Gotham during this month, although that is the most shaky out of the three.”

“No, that’s fine. I’d rather find out everyone she’s planning on targeting are out of the city.” He skims the documents and frowns. “Alfred, how much time is in between each disappearance?”

“If I’m correct, every four to five days, Detective.”

“Alright,” he selects a file and copies down an address, “the rest are supposed to be at hotels, too public. I’ll go pay Mrs. Montablano a quick visit. Are you alright keeping an eye on them? They’re staying in the handcuffs, since there’s two of them and one of you. Once I’m back we’ll see.”

“Yes, I don’t see an issue. And I’ll keep an eye on the news in case anything noteworthy happens in the city.”

-

Jim drives across town to the north end of Gotham and into a nice, quiet neighborhood with carefully shoveled sidewalks and tasteful holiday lights on some of the houses and fences. It’s an HOA neighborhood if Jim remembers correctly, and Jim is having trouble discerning one house from the next. They’re all too similar, too blandly painted, and it doesn’t help that it’s beginning to get dark.

He quickly realizes that, while he certainly means well, a random detective showing up at someone’s door during the night and start warning about plants and poison is probably not the most comforting thing in the world. Instead he drives by, slowly, and sighs in relief when he sees that her lights are on, and she’s apparently throwing some sort of party, because the living room is full of people.

Jim parks at the end of the block and turns off his car. He calls Alfred to check in on things, and to update him on Jim’s plans for the evening. “Hello, Alfred?”

“Detective, I’m glad you called.”

“Yeah? I was just going to give you an update. Montablano has company over. Ivy probably won’t strike while she’s with people.”

“That is good news Detective but there has been a report.” Jim sits back in his car. “It seems one of our assumptions was false. A Mr. Grady has been found in his hotel room.”

Jim punches his dash of his car and shakes his head. “What happened?”

“He was found dead in his hotel room with a single puncture wound. Apparently he was expected to give a speech this evening, but failed to show.”

“How do you know all that?” Jim hasn’t even gotten a call about a case.

Come to think of it, he hasn’t gotten any sort of call for not showing up to work this morning.

“Master Bruce and I have the privilege of hearing all police frequencies in the city. A  _ perk  _ of his technical prowess, he's set up a system that picks up all police scanners in the city.” Alfred must have to sift through  _ hours  _ of radio chatter to get to anything substantial. “I’m sorry, Detective. It is, after all, not a perfect model.”

“No, it’s okay,” he pauses, “it’s not okay but we did what we could.” He knows he’s telling himself that more than Alfred, and Alfred has the decency to not call Jim out on it. “How are things at the manor? Chaotic?”

“Mr. Cobblepot complained of a leg cramp about a half hour ago, and Mr. Nygma refuses to acknowledge me when I check in on him. Neither are terribly pleased with your decision.”

“That’s not exactly news, Alfred.” He takes a moment to glance back at Mrs. Montablano’s home, at the people laughing and smiling in her living room. “I’ll come back to the manor, and in the morning I’m going into GCPD Headquarters to look into this new case. There’s no way it’s going to be ruled an accident.”


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred and Jim agree to take the cuffs off now that they can each keep an eye on one of them, and Jim opts to watch Penguin, because he’s currently still achy and slow, which gives Jim plenty of time to drop the work he’s doing to stop him from running. He’s in the parlor with him, and Alfred is still in the east drawing room, presumably trying to get Riddler to stop sulking like a teenager.

Penguin huffs as he stares at Jim, and Jim just goes on ignoring him while he reads into the newest victim. It’s all pretty similar to the rest of the cases; a big wig in a company did something that caused the environment to suffer, and Ivy got to him before Jim could do a damn thing. It makes him realize just how little the GCPD can do in this case, and that thought is terrifying. They don’t think there’s even a case. For all they know, all of these people are dying from accidents.

“You could at least acknowledge that I am furious with you James. At least give me that courtesy.”

“I’m working,” he looks over the tablet Alfred is letting him use, “and you’re still under investigation. Remind me to read you your rights when I actually bring you into the GCPD, when I make the official arrest.”

“What do you plan to  _ do  _ exactly, James?” He’s leaning forward so far Jim wonders if he’s going to end up falling off the couch. “There’s no case to arrest us on, no evidence we’ve done anything aside from not be in Arkham like we’re “supposed to” and you’re not exactly swimming in leads right now.”

He can get them back in Arkham, sure, Jim knows all he would have to do is bring them over to the asylum and bam, they’d be locked back up. But if they  _ do  _ run wild, if Arkham is usually just a little pit stop for them before they’re out on their own again, then Jim needs to hold them here as long as possible so he can find evidence.

It isn’t ideal. Really, it’s somewhat illegal, but not  _ completely,  _ because they are criminals, they did escape from their sentence early, and Jim’s not going to deny them food or anything. They’ll both be well cared for before he brings them in, with a new case file in hand and extra charges on top of their others.

“I could bring you in right now, and they’d put you both back in a cell. I just want this case wrapped up before I do.”

“And when you find out you’re wrong? Can I get a promise that you’ll at least  _ apologize _ ?”

“If, somehow, I am wrong, sure, I’ll apologize. Maybe I’ll even turn a blind eye on you both after this case is solved.”

Penguin laughs, “oh James, you’re going to eat those words.”

Jim raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement and turns back to his work.

“Do you really think you can solve this case without our help?”

“Did you forget the part where you’re the ones I’m working on convicting?” Jim sets his tablet aside and folds his hands on his lap. “Maybe I’ll go to the GCPD, get some real backup that you’ve been insisting I avoid.”

“You wouldn’t go against Alfred, or jeopardize Gotham’s safety.”

Jim shrugs, “maybe, or maybe it would be faster than this jury-rigged team we had going for us. It could get Bruce back out there helping people sooner.” Assuming he’s okay. He hopes Bruce is alright.

“You’re a fool, Jim Gordon.” Penguin crosses his arms and shifts so he’s lying against the back of the couch, looking at the fireplace, which Alfred must’ve lit while Jim was gone. It’s not really a luxury he would’ve afforded Penguin right now, but it’s not his home, and Jim appreciates the extra warmth even though the manor is heated.

And now that Penguin isn’t trying to distract him Jim can get through this case. The most unusual part is the location. All the other victims were found outside, and Grady was in his hotel room. The news report didn’t give Jim a damn thing except confirmed his name and age. He’s been focusing all his attention on the transcripts from the police reports and radio conversations, but even those aren’t all that informative.

He’s going to have to wait until morning, after the ME gets done with the autopsy. And he needs to get the other victim’s body out of paperwork limbo so they can be released to their family and safely out of Riddler’s reach.

And he really needs to figure out why his boss didn’t mind him neglecting to come in, or call, or do anything remotely responsible about his actual job.

There isn’t much he can do tonight after he familiarizes with the case, so Jim gets up off the couch around nine and “accidentally” bumps the couch that Penguin has fallen asleep on. He startles, struggles up to a seated position, and scowls at Jim. He just gives Penguin a ‘what can you do’ expression as he leaves the room.

Jim can be honest with himself and admit that he feels a bit of schadenfreude from seeing Penguin like this. He’s on his way to the stairs when he sees Alfred in the hall, holding a glass of water and shaking his head as he stares at the door to the room Riddler’s being kept.

“Alfred?” Jim joins him by the door and nods towards it, “things going alright in there?”

“I’m afraid he’s decided he no longer needs water or food while he’s being “held prisoner”, his words. Perhaps it’s time to bring the two of them to a room to sleep.”

“I’m guessing Bruce never made a holding cell in the manor.”

“No, he has a habit of leaving people wherever they drop and calling the police department.” Alfred looks annoyed, but fond at the same time. “But one of the inner bedrooms has no windows, and we can sleep in the next room. I’m sure your decision to separate them is well intentioned, but after dealing with the two of them all afternoon I’m going to suggest you consider leaving them in the same room for the time being.”

“Maybe you’re onto something.” It would be easier to watch one room, and the two of them are a bit codependent. “I’ll talk to him. Can you bring Penguin into the room? I’ll meet you there with Riddler.” Jim says as he accepts the key from Alfred and unlocks the door. He finds Riddler standing by one of the windows, hands behind his back even though the cuffs are long gone, and all the lights are off, making the moon the only source of light in the room. “Hey, it’s not my business if you want to fast, but the melodramatic routine is going to get old quick.”

“What is love without life, and life without love?”

“I’m done with riddles.” Jim stands beside Riddler and looks out the window. “And I’m done with the both of you. I’m making this case official in the morning.”

“What word in the English Language is always spelled incorrectly?” He asks, an angry bite in his voice. “You’re making a mistake, Detective. You’re assumptions are false.”

“Stop speaking in damn riddles. I know you don’t think I’m making the right call, but when have you ever? You’re  _ criminals _ . You belong in Arkham. You’ve broken the law countless times to convince me someone else is guilty of this crime.”

“Detective, I believe it was you that threw the first stone tonight, seeing I am currently here, in a locked room, being held against my will.”

“It’s investigative detainment, and I’m done investigating for tonight.” He’s not surprised Riddler is behaving like this., unfortunately. “It’s late, and you’re being relocated upstairs. Cooperate, and I’ll consider forgetting about the car being stolen, and the files.”

“We’re to be alone, I presume, because in your mind we’re just that much more powerful together, right?” He starts crowding Jim, backing him up towards the door, “because what is fine with one, but better with two?”

“I don’t think you’re looking for an answer,” Jim puts a hand on Riddler’s shoulder and starts leading him out of the room, “tomorrow, after I get some things sorted out at the GCPD and this case is officially GCPD business, you’re going back to Arkham. I have a few recommendations for the staff.” First and foremost, keep them both separate. “But tonight you’re in luck, because there’s only one room we can keep you in.”

Riddler struggles and breaks free, but he doesn’t run. He’s staring at Jim, huffing and angry. “Don’t fuck with me, Detective. You’re already being cruel.”

“Alfred brought him to the room already. And I’m the one that’s an officer of the law, remember? I don’t gain anything from jerking you around about this.” He takes Riddler’s arm again, and starts guiding him down the hall.

Riddler jerks out of his hand once they get to the room, but he freezes for a second when he sees Penguin sitting on the edge of the bed. He hesitates for a moment, breathing hard and fast, and on the way into the room he slams the door shut as he storms towards the bed.

“They’re a bit more codependent than I realized.”

“I believe something must have happened,” Alfred admits, “because a few years ago I would have agreed with you, Detective.”

“And you have no idea what?” Alfred shakes his head. “Right, I didn’t think you would.”

“They are not often in the mood to share their thoughts to anyone aside from each other. I believe allowing them this time will be beneficial for everyone.”

And maybe Riddler will start eating now that they’re not separated. “Has Bruce ever had to do this?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know which “this” you’re referring to, Detective.”

“Detaining them, mostly.” Pissing them off to no end. Nearly breaking the law in order to keep them from leaving town.

“No, but he has been the one to bring them back to Arkham, although he’s shown a certain reluctance recently. Master Bruce described the reason as a resignation of their fates. He wouldn’t elaborate.”

“They’re acting strange,” he says, “for them, at least.” He’s been ignoring their compliance, assuming it’s because they’re outmatched, but the longer they just go along with Jim’s decision the more he wonders why. “It just doesn’t make sense. They’re usually all about defying pretty much everything I stand for. Bruce has never had to do this before?” He gestures to the bedroom. Jim doesn’t want to call it being locked up, but that’s what it is, and while this seemed like a great idea while he was angry, now that he’s cooled he’s regretting not just bringing them to the GCPD headquarters to put them in a holding cell. Alfred shakes his head, and Jim sighs. “My boss is going to skin me alive.”

“It may not be a shining example of the justice system, but they are, in fact, career criminals.”

“We’re still supposed to respect their rights, what little they do have at this point. When the GCPD was more corrupt than not, most wouldn’t have batted an eye, because you’re right, they’re career criminals. It comes with the job. It shouldn’t be his way, but I don’t know who to trust anymore. They might have officers in their pockets willing to release them, or block my case before it’s even on the captain’s desk.”

And he needs to know where they are until they tell him where Bruce is being kept, and he doesn’t trust anyone else to do the job except for himself and Alfred. He hates that they’ve managed to ruin his trust in his fellow officers, but the ME’s decision to rule three murders an unfortunate accident doesn’t exactly fill him with confidence. And Riddler’s been sneaking into the GCPD long enough to steal files for years. Jim doesn’t believe that he could make it in and out without being caught at least once, but he’s never been charged with breaking in according to Jim’s knowledge.

“Leave the door unlocked. I want to test something.”

-

The next morning he leaves the room he’s using and rushes through a morning routine (shower, shave, getting dressed) before quietly approaching the bedroom containing Riddler and Penguin and opening the door. The dim light from the hallway shines into the room enough that he can make out two shapes on the bed. He walks a little closer, and confirms that they’re both still asleep (and not just cleverly placed pillows). Today they’re on their sides facing each other, and Penguin’s and Riddler’s hands are vaguely interlinked in the space between them. Codependent. He feels like he should add that to their official files.

Part of him really expected them to be gone. Arkham’s locks can’t keep them, so why would a wooden door in an old house? Jim hypothesized that they didn’t want to have to try to leave while in handcuffs, or that being in separate rooms made it difficult to coordinate their plans, but overnight there was nothing to stop them. The door wasn’t even locked. They could have just walked out and left.

As he turns to leave the room he notices a glass of water on the end table behind Riddler. It wasn’t there last night, and Jim’s assuming Alfred didn’t bring it in for them.

“What the hell is this?” he whispers to himself. He leaves the bedroom and shuts the door.

He goes to the kitchen and makes some coffee to try and wake himself up fully. As he drinks it he tries to make some sense of those two, which is admittedly difficult when they’re focused on their personas, and now that they’re being whatever this is he’s afraid figuring them out will be impossible.

One of them, probably Riddler, went to the trouble of getting a damn glass of water from the kitchen and didn’t leave when they could have done so easily.

“Good morning Detective,” Alfred greets him. “Are you going to leave before breakfast?”

“They didn’t leave,” he rubs his eyes. “One of them got water.”

“I see.” Alfred pours himself a cup of coffee and tops off Jim’s mug. “Did you learn anything from your test?”

Jim holds up two fingers. “Either they did take Bruce and are trying to guilt trip me, which they should know wouldn’t work, or,” he takes a deep breath and lets it out, “or they are telling the truth, they didn’t take Bruce, and they’re waiting for me to realize my mistake. If it’s that one I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Why don’t you go get your paperwork sorted, and I’ll hold down the fort here. If neither of us wakes them they’re liable to sleep until at least eleven.”

“It’s still weird that you know that,” Jim says before finishing his cup of coffee with one last drink, “but useful. I’ll be back before then.”

-

Jim walks into the GCPD headquarters and over to his desk, which has a couple files neatly stacked in his inbox, but is otherwise untouched. There’s no report from the ME about the reexamination, and he takes a moment to rifle through his papers, pretending to look for something, before walking quickly towards the ME’s workspace.

It’s empty, but that’s not terribly uncommon if there’s no body to examine.

_ But there is a body to examine _ , he thinks. Grady died yesterday evening. Jim looks over his shoulder, and after confirming he’s alone starts rifling through the files on the ME’s desk to see if there’s been any sort of exam performed.

He’s not pleased by what he finds. Grady’s autopsy  _ has  _ been completed, and right in the cause of death, in the ME’s neat, uniform script are the words “accidental” and “snake bite”. Jim looks at the entire report, confused, and flips to the next couple of pages, which noted “liquification” again, and the Riddler’s know-it-all voice pops into his head about that not being a real word.

How the hell does a snake get into a hotel?

Jim takes a photo of the report so he can show Alfred when he gets back to the manor before returning the file to its original place. He then returns to his desk in order to find the forms Riddler submitted for the reexamination of the third victim’s body. Normally the officer that made the request has a carbon copy of the form they keep for themselves until the request is completed, but his desk is clear except for those folders (cold cases upon examination, and not ones high on his priority list right now) and a few memos he can read later. He ignores the folders for now and goes straight to the captain’s office, already rehearsing a speech in his head about why he was gone yesterday.

“Jim,” she says, smiles, and he gives a little wave. He’s been pretty happy with their new captain after Barnes ah,  _ left _ . “I didn’t expect to see you in today. I thought you were on bereavement leave?”

“I,” he is going to have to either kill Riddler or thank him and the confusion is messing with him a little, “am. Yes.”

“Okay,” she moves a few files on her desk before looking back up expectantly. “You have my condolences, by the way.”

“Yes, it was my great aunt.” He really,  _ really  _ hopes Riddler didn’t give any specifics for this fake death in Jim’s family. “We ah, towards the end we weren’t terribly close, but you know, family.” He shrugs. “I’m just here to get out of the apartment for a little.”

“I understand that. You can only take so much family love in one sitting.”

“Right,” he nods. “Funeral’s tomorrow so…” he trails off, hoping she’ll say something about taking all the time he needs, or something like that.

“If you need a few more days to help get things sorted out just keep me updated and we’ll make sure your cases are covered.”

“Perfect, thank you. I’ll be back in a few days.” He goes to leave, then turns around, remembering the request Riddler submitted in his name. “I had a request for the ME about a case we got in a few days ago, and I didn’t see anything on my desk.”

“The autopsy? That was competed a couple days ago.”

“But I put in a reexamination request.” Jim reiterates. He doesn’t like the gut feeling he’s getting right now.

“Yes, and the ME already completed that one yesterday morning and released the body. The family thanks you, by the way, for being so thorough and double checking, but accidents happen sometimes. We didn’t want to keep the body tied up in limbo, so I had your partner file your part of the completion paperwork yesterday.”

“Great,” he smiles, all fake cheer and the start of some intense indigestion and discomfort, “thanks. That’s why I came in today, really. I didn’t want them to wait.”

“I’m sure they would appreciate that, but we got you covered.” She smiles. “Are you staying long?”

“No, no, just had to get that done and run a few errands.” And apparently apologize to a few criminals he’s been accusing of a crime they didn’t commit, no big deal. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

Before Jim leaves he fills out a hold request for Mr. Grady’s body, submits it to the ME, and leaves before anyone can question why he’s doing this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early posting for the holiday week, expect a post tomorrow morning as well, and another Wednesday morning!

He sits in his car without starting it, just thinking.

The body Riddler wanted to keep around is gone, already buried according to Jim’s quick research. He went through the trouble of trying to keep the body around and the ME just dismissed the notion that the death was anything but a snakebite.

And the newest victim, who died in a hotel room in the middle of the city, also had a supposed snake bite for a cause of death. He forgave one snake bite, but four is just getting ridiculous.

Jim has a sinking feeling in his stomach. Either they’re both getting a bit ridiculous and over elaborate in their crimes, or Jim’s about to apologize to them for accusing them of a crime they didn’t do.

He will never live this down.

Worse by far, he’s wasted nearly a day on this lead, and it’s a dead end. They didn’t kidnap Bruce, or feed Ivy information. Someone, or maybe multiple someones, is pulling the strings, and they have influence over the ME at the GCPD.

And Jim has to somehow muster up the humility to tell the two of them.

Jim starts the car and pulls out his phone to call the Manor. He’s thankful when it’s Alfred on the other end. “Hello Detective. Shall I wake them so you can turn them in?”

“Alfred,” Jim can’t believe he has to say this, “I was wrong. There’s something going on here, but it’s not those two pulling the strings.”

Alfred is quiet for a moment before asking, “are you certain Detective?”

“They rushed the re-examination. Body’s already buried.” Jim sighs as he exits the parking lot. “And the new victim was ruled an accident. Another snake bite. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me Detective?”

“I wasted time we could’ve used to find Bruce.” And he failed to intervene before Ivy struck again. “All I learned is that the GCPD is still corrupt, or being manipulated somehow.”

“I think that’s still important information to have. Why don’t you explain your discovery to me in more detail, Detective.”

“Alright. When I got to the GCPD there wasn’t a copy of the re-examination request on my desk. Riddler went through the trouble of filing for bereavement leave for me, I suspect so the paperwork to release the body couldn’t be completed without my say, but the captain and ME went over my head and filed for me. The whole idea was so he could still gain access without having the body embalmed or cremated. It doesn’t make sense that he would change his mind when we were planning on going yesterday.”

“And if I remember correctly, Mr Nygma added the third murder case to the files  _ after  _ Master Bruce stopped contacting me. Although that would prove to be a decent misdirect.”

“This is too complicated,” Jim rubs his eyes once he gets to another stop sign. “But it’s not Riddler complicated. There’s no puzzle, just a mess. And without them, there’s not case to investigate. The GCPD is just covering it up.”

“Does this mean your suspicions have officially shifted, Detective? They are no longer under investigation?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “but I don’t know who we should be investigating. Going to Ivy tonight be our best move.”

“I’ll wake Missers Nygma and Cobblepot so we may begin planning this confrontation.”

Jim knows he doesn’t deserve any help when he has to offer this olive branch, but he can’t stand the thought of the two of them lording this over him while he tries to apologize. “Can you let me be the one to tell them about this? I already have to somehow form a sincere apology for all this.”

“Of course,” he says, and Jim sighs in relief. “I’ll see you shortly Detective.”

Jim hangs up after a quick goodbye and spends the rest of the drive motivating himself to apologize. At Wayne manor he’s finally accepted that yes, he should say he’s sorry, but if they give him grief he’s rescinding his offer to let them go after the acse is done. He suspected them because they’re criminals. He had plenty of reason to think they would do this.

And this doesn’t mean he trusts them. He still wouldn’t be shocked if they reveal themselves as the culprits down the road, but in the meantime he believe their claims.

When he gets inside he finds Riddler and Penguin in the kitchen, both still dressed for sleep and somewhat bleary eyed. They’re both nursing cups of tea from a teapot between them, and whatever they’re talking about is serious, their faces both have stern, thoughtful expressions.

But the second they see Jim their faces both split with identical shit-eating grins. Alfred joins them before Jim can say anything, looking very weary and very much done with his house guests.

“My apologies, Detective. Apparently they were listening in on the other line.”

“Now Alfred,” Penguin placates him, “you’re not the one that needs to apologize.”

He should just turn around now and leave. Maybe he’ll confront Ivy on his own. It suddenly feels like the easier option.

“Well, Detective?” Riddler nods to him, “we’re waiting.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Fine, alright, I’m sorry.”

“For?” Penguin asks.

“For suspecting that two people who commit crimes for a living committed this crime.”

“That didn’t feel very sincere Detective.”

“I agree,” Penguin nods to Riddler. “Very insincere.”

“That’s all you get.”

“That’s all?” Penguin presses.

“Keep pushing. See if I don’t bring you in for breaking out of Arkham.” He feels so tired already. How is it only ten? He thinks the threat works though, at least a little, because Riddler’s smile droops. “How the hell did you figure out this case if you didn’t set it up?”

“Can you imagine spending hours on something, fitting together all the pieces of a puzzle, only to have someone claim you’ve fabricated it from the beginning?” Riddler says, with increasing intensity and volume. He takes a breath and, when he’s still worked up, a drink of his tea. “I look at all of the GCPD incoming files, Detective, and I have an excellent memory. I called bull the moment the ME tried to claim someone got bitten by a snake in Gotham in the winter, and the location was nowhere near the zoo. Your department didn’t show you the files for a reason. You would’ve come to the same conclusion I did, although I’m sure it would have taken you a bit longer.”

So he’s not happy. Jim can deal with that as long as he doesn’t let it interfere with the case. He looks to the Penguin. “And you?”

“How do you think he got into the GCPD unscathed so many times?”

“Also,” Riddler interrupts, “I had to wait around for that third body, and when it appeared it was my proverbial goldmine, and now it’s gone, if I heard you correctly?”

“Yes, but there’s a forth, and we need to hurry before my captain figures out I put it in limbo,” he says to Riddler, “get ready to go. We have a field trip. ME’s office.”

“They weren’t fans of me going into the ME’s office back when I  _ did  _ work for the GCPD. I doubt they’ll be thrilled.”

“I’ll get you in there while it’s empty.”

“Am I not invited along?” Penguin asks, sounding offended. “Do you think I’m not an asset to this team?”

“Do you know how to extract poison from a liver?”

“There’s no guarantee I’ll extract from the liver,” Riddler corrects.

“I can provide a distraction.” Penguin offers. Jim’s afraid to ask for any sort of explanation of what he has planned. “And James, I don’t think you really have any right to exclude me when I’m only trying to help.”

He can’t win.

“Fine, okay, just get ready. We’re going to have to be quick. I don’t know what kind of window of time we’ll have.”

Jim waits around in the entryway while Penguin and Riddler get ready. He doesn’t have to wait long, and he has to give them both credit, Jim didn’t even have to tell them to dress down, not that they’re dressed down all that much. Penguin is in a gray sweater, probably expensive given the intricate knit, and black pants, and Riddler is similar, but with a dark green sweater. It’s still very strange and oddly domestic, seeing them like this, but the domesticity dies when Jim notices the bundle of firecrackers in Penguin’s free hand, the other resting on his cane.

“No.”

“These are a last resort, James.” He says while he pats the firecrackers against Jim’s shoulder in what is probably supposed to be a comforting gesture. “I have other plans up my sleeves, don’t you worry. I’m sure Ed can get the sample in no time.”

“Alfred has agreed to extract from any tissue samples I can collect for him. I should only need access to the body for twenty minutes, thirty at most.”

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” he says while pinching the bridge of his nose. “When we get there, stay outside by the stairwell door, and I’ll let you both in once it’s safe enough.”

“Is there easy access to the ductwork from the stairwell?” Penguin asks.

Jim gives him a long, weary stare. “Why?”

“Well James,  _ obviously  _ I need to know where I’m setting these off,” he holds up the firecrackers, “and if I need to expend any extra effort you’re going to have to set off a strand yourself.”

“No, no way,” he’s already not keen on setting them off period. “Just,  _ please _ , for me, don’t set those off unless we’re desperate.”

“I don’t think we owe you anything at the moment, Detective,” Riddler says, “unless you want to pull a sample of vitreous humor yourself I suggest you just answer his question.”

He is definitely pissed about Jim accusing them, way more than Penguin is for whatever reason. “Fine, yes, okay? You can access the ductwork in the stairwell.”

“You won’t regret this,” Penguin says with a smile. He pats Jim’s shoulder again as he walks across the room and places the firecrackers in a shoulder bag.

_ I already am _ , he thinks, but he follows Penguin and Riddler out to the car anyway.

-

“Okay, just sit here,” Jim turns around in the car and indicates they should lie down in the back, “and I’ll signal you when the stairwell is clear.”

“Sitting in your car in broad daylight isn’t exactly subtle, nor a terribly good hiding place Detective,” Riddler scrunches down all the same, “so I’d suggest you move quickly if you need to clear the area.”

“I’d be happy to offer you some of the firecrackers James,” Penguin starts digging into his bag and pulls out a string, “because if I know one thing in this town it’s that a firecracker will still clear a room, no matter how crazy normal gets.”

“No firecrackers.” He turns off the car and gets out. “And try to not move if someone comes by the car.”

“Is a police officer's’ vision based on movement?” Riddler asks.

“Just stay put,” Jim scolds them and shuts the car door. He whispers to himself, “I’m sorry Bruce you’re probably doomed.”

He opens up the stairwell door and enters the building quietly but quickly. No one is in the stairwell, and he opens the door to unlock and relock the car, the previously agreed signal for ‘all clear’. The two of them slide out of the back and walk confidently, Riddler shouldering the bag Penguin packed and Penguin clicking away with his cane.

“I’ll go up and see how many people are up there. You two set up whatever you were going to do, but  _ not  _ the firecrackers,” he looks at Penguin, who whistles “cluelessly”, “and I’ll come get you when it’s safe enough.”

They both hole up under the stairs in the stairwell and Jim walks up the small flight of stairs and into the main room. It’s relatively quiet, most officers out on their beats, and plenty of others eating lunch at their desks or the break room. He’s just starting to figure out a plan, one that involves plenty of ducking for cover, when the fire alarm starts going off.

“Well I guess that works,” he mutters as he pretends to start following the rest of his coworkers out the main doors. He sees someone go the other way towards the stairwell, and he panics, breaking from the rest of the group, claiming some b.s. about something important he can’t let get damaged, and follows the officer into the stairwell.

And just as the officer is calling attention to the two criminals hiding out under the stairs Jim panics and tackles him to the ground. Riddler comes at them with something, and he injects what Jim sincerely hopes is a sedative into the officer’s arm.

“What was that?”

“Mild sedative Detective.” He and Penguin are both watching him in awe, and Jim’s not sure he should feel proud about that. He is glad they only used the fire alarm to clear the building. “And here we were worried you weren’t going to come.”

“I knew we could trust you James,” Penguin claps his hands over one of Jim’s after he crawls out from under the stairs. “You’ve always been a real standup guy Detective.”

“I just tackled an officer,” he says and shakes his hand free. “Now come on. We need to get out of here before the fire department shows up.”

“You think we set off the  _ actual  _ alarm?” Penguin laughs. “What do you take us for?”

They relocate to the ME’s office, Jim and Penguin standing by the doors to watch for company, and Riddler humming away as he snaps on gloves and a gown. “A king of riches,” he pulls a cart over beside the table, a pawn of poor. After the game the same box they board. It takes them where a hierarchy is no more.”

“We really don’t have time for this.”

“The cause of  _ death _ , he indicates, “is, once again, caused by a poison. Plant based unless you believe the current ME.” He takes out a scalpel and examines it, “I sincerely hope no one in the room is that idiotic.”

He pulls down a face shield and gets to work, and Jim just turns around. He needs to focus on the hallway anyway, and Riddler needs to get his job done quickly.

“James,” Penguin calls him over, “who is that exactly?”

He’s pointing into the main area, where the alarms are still blaring, at the current ME, who’s ignoring the wailing sounds and moving towards the stairs. Jim swears and motions for Riddler to hurry, but he’s just humming along and collecting his samples. Jim grumbles under his breath and steps out into the hall, moving quietly to intercept the ME on the stairs. He intersects the ME, Maron, at the first landing, and when he attempts to step around Jim, Jim sidesteps into his way.

“Maron are you deaf?” he shouts over the alarm. “We need to evacuate.”

“Detective,” he says this with irritation, and he gets angry when Jim blocks his path again, “I have important documents I can’t let burn up, and I’m getting them while there’s no smoke.”

“It isn’t safe,” he smiles helplessly, trying to appear friendly. “You really shouldn’t be in here.”

“Why are  _ you  _ here exactly?”

“Just making sure everyone got out safely.”

“No, I mean you’re on bereavement.”

“Forgot my phone,” he lies, digging it out of his pocket.

Maron tries to push past Jim again and reaches the third step. Jim grabs his arm and he tries to pull away. “Gordon let go!”

“We need to evacuate now.” He needs to give Riddler more time. “This isn’t safe.”

“We’d already be gone if you weren’t stopping me,” Maron says as he jerks his hand out of Jim’s grip and continues up the stairs.

Jim says nothing, and when Maron pauses to ask, “did you hear something?” he shrugs, but he definitely heard the firecrackers, and he hopes it means they’re done in the office.

The second Maron opens the door to his office thick smoke comes billowing out, and he coughs. Jim grabs him and start leading him out of the building, this time without any fight and although Jim will never admit it out loud he’s thankful Penguin brought them along.

Jim ditches Maron the second they’re out of the building and runs through the alley to get to the car. There’s a few people milling about, confused about the absence of the fire department no doubt, but no one asks Jim if he knows anything as he gets in and starts the car.

“Detective,” Jim jumps, startled, and turns to glare at the two of them. They’re lying down in the back seat, Penguin on top of Riddler but that’s not important now, and a suspicious cooler on the floor behind the passenger seat.

“Don’t tell me you look his liver.”

“Only a portion Detective. Liquification may have been a bit of an understatement.”

“I don’t need details,” he pulls out of the parking lot and begins driving back to the Manor. “Did we get everything Alfred asked for?”

“More or less,” Riddler says quietly. He’s paying more attention to Penguin than the conversation, but he says, “as I previously stated, liquification was an understatement.”

“So it works fast.” Jim concludes. Neither of them answer, and a quick glance in the rear view mirror tells Jim he’s better off ignoring them.

He can deal with them fooling around; Jim’s capable of tunneling his vision when need be, but this is somehow worse. They’re just talking, murmurs of conversation barely reaching Jim’s ears, but it’s somehow more intimate, seeing them calm and relaxed, not shouting out orders or demanding attention.

The illusion is somewhat ruined by their topic, poisons, but their demeanor is something Jim hasn’t really ever had to associate with the two of them, until this week at least.

Jim ignores them both for the remainder of the drive, and back at Wayne Manor he shuts off the car and grabs the cooler himself, because  _ now  _ they’re fooling around and Jim will not give them reason to try to mess with him anymore than they already are.

“Come inside when you’re done,” he says, and shuts the rear passenger’s side door.


	8. Chapter 8

Alfred’s waiting just inside the door, and greets Jim with a curt nod. “I’ll take the samples if you don’t mind Detective.”

“Sure,” he hands the cooler to Alfred. “They’re busy, so-”

The front door opens and Penguin and Riddler walk in, not a hair out of place, and Jim is forced to accept that they were trying to mess with him, although he thinks he handled things admirably.

“I will begin extracting immediately,” Alfred lifts up the cooler, as if Jim could ever forget, “with the aid of Mr. Nygma.”

“Really?” Jim asks.

“Time is valuable, Detective,” Alfred says, and although Jim knows Alfred isn’t usually spiteful he can feel a bit of disappointment aimed his way. “He has agreed to keep his grubby hands off any equipment I don’t give him permission to use, unless he wants to become friendly with your handcuffs again.”

“Scouts honor,” Riddler says with a grin and a few eyebrow raises.

“Fine, behave yourself. Good luck Alfred.” He nods and beckons Riddler to follow, and Jim grabs Penguin’s elbow before he can follow. “You’re with me.”

“That’s great,” Penguin smiles, “I have something important to take care of. You see, business doesn’t stop just because you say so James. I have a meeting for a sale.”

“You son of a bitch,” Jim says as he grips Penguin’s arm a bit tighter. It startles him, but he forces the shock off his face. “We had a deal.”

“Oh, I tried to reschedule James, but my buyer is a bit anxious to complete the sale. I’m selling one of my weapons distribution centers. I have an investment in the pipeline and an extra couple million on hand never hurts, plus a couple extra more for incidentals.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Penguin shakes his arm free and brushes off his sleeve. “As much as it pains me to say so I need a little assistance.”

“No way,” he says, shaking his head. Never again.

“I’m going to tell you what, James. Come with me, be my driver. You don’t have to do anything but offer a fellow Gothamite a ride. We’ll pick up my security detail, get the necessary paperwork, and while Zsasz and I are making the deal, I’ll give you exclusive viewing privileges.”

“Zsasz is in Arkham.”

“That’s not really an answer Detective, and not entirely correct.”

“I can’t believe you could be this selfish. And I’m not helping you conduct your illegal business.”

“I’m selling a distribution center, which isn’t illegal on its own, but you’re clearly missing what a generous offer I’m making you. You will know, without a doubt, who’s moving illicit firearms in West Gotham.”

“Pass,” Jim says as he reaches into his pockets for his handcuffs. Penguin’s eyes get wide and he backs up. “I made my stance known, and I’m going to bring you in. As long as Riddler cooperates he’ll stick with us until we find Bruce.”

“Now James, let’s not be hasty,” Penguin backs himself into a corner, “you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m upholding the law.” He grabs Penguin’s shoulder and turns him around. “Oswald Cobblepot, aka the Penguin-”

“Zsasz’s already out of Arkham,” Penguin says fast. “I have an ambulance we paid off last week, ready to bring him to a secure location. If I’m not there, he goes rogue.”

Jim pauses after snapping on a single cuff, and Penguin shoulders him in the chest, grabbing the front door handle so he can get away. Jim grabs his arm again, and twists it behind his back.

“You’ve only given me more reason to bring you in,” Jim says through clenched teeth.

Penguin hits his free fist against the door once. “What do you plan to do Detective? Arrest us both? Zsasz sees that something’s not right and he will retaliate on my behalf. I don’t think you can handle him.”

“Well then you better be convincing when we get him.”

“I’ll give you information. Names. I’ve been selling some of my businesses, trading it for housing and nightclubs. The arms race isn’t quite exciting enough these days.”

“How many businesses?”

“Four of my operations are already privately owned outside my influence.” He hits his fist against the door again, and Jim realizes it’s because of his leg (which is currently forced onto tiptoe and bent out) and he eases some of the pressure off Penguin. He sighs in relief, then adds, “five names. The GCPD can clean them all out, see if I care. I’ll even give you  _ advice  _ to take them down without a problem.”

Jim doesn’t want to give in, but he can’t exactly prove Penguin broke Zsasz out aside from his word, which he’ll claim was a lie, and nothing else is  _ actually  _ illegal, unfortunately. And in the time it would take to get the truth from him in interrogation (or if Jim lets himself, just “extracting” the information on his own) Zsasz could already be halfway through a rampage through the city. “You need a different security detail. Zsasz is out.”

“That’s not really up for debate Detective. This was set in motion weeks before Bruce went missing.” Penguin rests his head against the door. “Even if I called off the ambulance, Zsasz has his own set of instructions.”

Jim considers calling Arkham, telling them to crack down on Zsasz’s security, but for whatever reason, better or worse, Zsasz listens to Penguin, and Zsasz isn’t known for letting his orders go. Jim accepts, begrudgingly, that Zsasz will be outside Arkham’s gates whether he intervenes or not, but he  _ can  _ try to minimize the damage. “Then he goes back to Arkham, the  _ moment  _ you’re done.”

“Yes, no problem,” Penguin says, voice tight, and his free hand gripping his thigh. Jim lets him go and he nearly falls over, but snaps his arm out of Jim’s grip when he tries to help.

“Stop trying to help me, James. If I needed it, I’d  _ ask _ .”

“Fine.” He lets Penguin stumble until he manages to ease weight back onto his bad leg. “What kind of timeline are we looking at for Zsasz?”

“One, by the docks.” Which gives them about an hour.

“Fine,” Jim opens the door and ushers Penguin out. “But after this is all done, I don’t care what I said before, you’re both going back to Arkham.”

“We’ll see,” Penguin says, and offers no other comment.

-

Jim is driving towards the docks, glancing down at the clock in his car every ten seconds to make sure they have plenty of time, and ignoring the way Penguin is blatantly staring at him while he drives. He doesn’t say a word, and eventually Penguin must get bored, because he starts to talk.

“You know, I always admired you James,” Penguin says fondly. A little  _ too  _ fondly.

“Please tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

“You’re an honorable man.” Penguin smiles at him. “I can’t imagine it’s easy to do the things you do every day, being so moral and upstanding for the less fortunate.”

“It’s my job.”

‘It takes a special kind of person to do what you do for a living, protecting Gotham the way you do.”

For the record, Jim is not comfortable with this conversation, and he shifts in his seat. He’s already looking forward to picking up Zsasz so there will be someone else in the car to act as a buffer.

“Yes, a real protector of Gotham. I’d hate to see you fall off this high horse of yours, because I imagine you could get altitude sickness from the change in height.”

_ That  _ was abrupt. “Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?”

“I don’t think you get to criticize Ed and me about bending the law when you do the same thing.” Jim starts a reply but Penguin interrupts, “you helped us render an officer unconscious today James, in order to let Ed steal samples from a corpse.” Jim doesn’t have a response now. “So stop finding excuses to arrest us when we’re trying to help.”

“This deal doesn’t help,” Jim says, because it’s the only thing he can say without being a hypocrite.

“This deal has been pending for a month. I am being honest,” he spits, “when I say I tried to reschedule, but getting security lined up takes time, and my buyer is not known for her patience.”

“I don’t know how smart it is to trust Zsasz with your life.”

“No one else is honest enough to trust,” he admits. “Zsasz is admittedly, unstable, but he’s loyal to me. You don’t find that very often these days. And if it eases any unnecessary worry in any way, he’s faking an illness, not causing a wild rampage. There shouldn’t be any collateral damage.”

“Doesn’t sound like your style.”

“I want this done as cleanly as you do, James. And I’d hate to put you in a difficult position, after that little debacle with Odgen Baker.”

Jim wants to feel angrier than he is, but it’s way in the past, and Penguin doesn’t sound entirely insincere. And he’s not exactly  _ wrong _ . Jim’s broken several laws in the past three days, all for Bruce, who breaks the law every time he dons his cowl.

“I still don’t like this.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Penguin says, then directs Jim, “this street, all the way at the end of the third block.”

Jim pulls the car in behind a parked ambulance and stops the car. Penguin reaches over and honks three times, and two paramedics get out. Jim makes sure to study their faces, and tells Penguin, “I want their names too.”

“Of course you do,” Penguin smiles, “I’ll give you whatever names you want later.” He opens the door and gets out, nodding to the paramedics and waving them off. “Coming James?”

He waits until both paramedics are scarce before getting out and joining Penguin. “What illness gets an inmate out of Arkham?”

“Appendicitis, hernia, as long as it needs surgery.” Penguin unlatches the door and opens it, “I gave him a few suggestions to choose from.”

Jim’s not really sure why Penguin’s being so open about this, but he needs to remember to tell the Arkham staff about these tactics. Jim takes in the scene, the bandages on Zsasz’s side, the knife on a tray, and then he turns to Penguin, who’s furious.

“Or he just got stabbed!” He says loudly, dripping with fake-cheer and sarcasm, “isn’t that fantastic James!”

“Hey boss,” Zsasz says with a smile and apparently no concern for his wound as he sits up straighter and twists his spine, making it crack twice.

“Get out here,” Penguin says, all fake cheer gone. “You have got to be kidding me Zsasz.”

“I got out like you wanted.” He says as he hops off the gurney and onto the snow, unaffected by his lack of a shirt or, again, the fact that he’s been recently injured. “I didn’t even hurt the guy back, like you said.”

“Next time listen to my suggestions!” Penguin shouts, then holds up a hand and breathes. “It’s fine, what’s done is done. You’re out, but you’re going right back in, courtesy of Detective Gordon.”

Zsasz apparently hadn’t registered Jim’s presence, but now that he has he greets Jim with a smile, “hey Detective Gordon. Long time no see.”

“Victor,” he replies. It’s been a few years since Jim has dealt with Zsasz in person, and the first time in ages that he’s seen him uncovered by clothes. The tallies are everywhere now. “You’re up front with me, Penguin in back.”

“As you wish,” Penguin opens up the rear passenger side door and gets in the car. Zsasz gets in and leans his seat back, which makes Penguin’s face curl down with disgust as he moves to the middle seat. “Drive here,” he says as he hands Jim an address, “and we’ll get Victor all set up.”

“What is this place?”

“Just a quick pit stop.”

The pit stop turns out to be the landlord apartment of one of Penguin’s newer complexes. It’s a nice neighborhood and the building had a good architect; the outside is reminiscent of some of Gotham’s older brick, but inside everything is modern and sleek, clearly meant to bring in well off tenants. The landlord apartment doesn’t appear to actually be lived in, although after a bit of snooping in the kitchen Jim finds a photograph of Penguin and Riddler, about ten years ago, in front of what looks like a garden at their home. It was hidden on the side of the fridge that faces the wall.

“Are you stitched up or do we have to do that too?” Penguin asks, and Jim slips the photo back where he found it and joins them in the living room. He appears to be checking behind the bandage instead of waiting for an answer. “We’ll change the bandage, but the stitching looks alright.”

“Oswald,” a familiar voice greets them from the other room, and Gabe comes out of the bedroom, clapping his hand in Penguin’s and kissing both of his cheeks, “right on time.”

“Good to see you old friend. So sorry to drag you out of retirement again,” Oswald shakes his hand again and gestures to Jim, “you remember James Gordon.”

“You sure you want him in here?”

“It’s his choice,” Penguin looks to Jim expectantly.

“Here’s fine,” Jim says with fake cheer. He wants a say over what Zsasz is given as weapons, and he needs to play nice to do that. “Bodyguarding not for you anymore?”

“He’s in distribution now,” Penguin says, a bit defensive. “And it’s not really any of your business if a man at his age wants to change his career path.”

Gabe works on Zsasz’s wound first, applying a topical antibiotic to what he declared a “shallow hit” and re-wrapping it with gauze and medical tape. Zsasz doesn’t say a word, just watches as the ointment goes on, which Jim assumes had to of stung but he didn’t flinch at all, and keeping his arm out of the way until his side is properly covered.

“Let’s get him out of these Arkham issue pants,” Penguin says, and Gabe leaves the room momentarily. He returns with a suit, which Zsasz changes into right in the middle of the room. Jim gets an eyeful of all the scars on his legs, and he starts regretting this tenfold. Zsasz is dangerous, and he shouldn’t be outside of Arkham period, let alone in a situation where he’s given weapons.

“What do we have for guns on hand?”

“Nothing high caliber,” Jim speaks up.

Gabe nods, “not a high volume. Just the usual pistols, some shotguns-”

“Pistols,” Zsasz says sharply, holding out his hands. Gabe hands him two silver pistols from a case and Zsasz inspects them before holstering them at his sides. “I don’t need high caliber.”

“You better take it easy with those stitches,” Gabe warns, “no showboating.”

“This should be a painless transaction.” Penguin assures Gabe, and maybe Jim by virtue of him being within earshot. “Victor’s presence should be enough of a deterrent should anyone get any funny ideas.”

They exit the apartment and Zsasz calmly walks over to the ar and gets in, this time mindful of his stitches, moving slowly as he bends down. Jim grabs Penguin’s arm before he gets to the ar, and Zsasz notices, but for now only watches intently, unblinking.

“What James?”

“His Arkham file calls him uncontrollable, and prone to lashing out. Why does he listen to you?”

Penguin puffs up his shoulders, looking smug. “Maybe the orderlies like to exaggerate, or maybe Zsasz is like a dog being kept indoors in a kennel, anxious for a run. I let him out, let him get a little exercise, and he’s much better behaved as a result. You know,” he adds, thoughtful, “Arkham would benefit from giving their inmates a little outside time.” He steps away. “Now we really should be going, James. We wouldn't want to be late. I like to maintain a picture of punctuality with my associates, and I’d hate to have you be the reason that image is tarnished.”


	9. Chapter 9

They’re only two blocks away from the apartment complex when Penguin’s phone begins ringing. He pulls it out and says, “hello?”

Jim watches from the rear view mirror as he frowns. “Yes I’m doing the sale. Why did you know that? Who? Gabe?” He looks affronted. “I’ll skin him alive for that, he knows,” he pauses to listen. “No, I will, because it’s a breach of trust and-” he huffs as he’s interrupted, miming a mouth with his hand.

“Who is that?” Jim asks.

Penguin waves him off. “No I’m not alone.” A pause. “Zsasz. James is here too.” He gets huffy after the next pause. “Well if you weren’t playing with entrails with Alfred maybe you could have come along.”

Riddler. Jim tries to hold in a laugh with some success. “No, it’s going to be fine. I don’t expect any trouble.” He eases back so his head is against the back of the bench seat. The next part he says through gritted teeth, “yes, alright. I love you too.”

Jim’s mouth strains to not smile, and Zsasz turns to look at Penguin. The second he hangs up he glares at the two of them and angrily asks, “what.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Jim says, though he can feel a laugh starting.

“And you, what are you looking at exactly?” Penguin points at Zsasz. “Turn back around.”

“He told you off again didn’t he boss?” Penguin makes a face at Zsasz, something that reminds Jim of a petulant child not getting his way.

“He did not  _ tell me off _ , he voiced his concerns, as he is wont to do.” Penguin rolls his eyes. “It’s clearly unfounded, as if anything would happen during this sale, it’s,” he sputters a bit, laughing, “it’s ridiculous.”

“He cares about you,” Jim says, and Penguin frowns at him. “Just an observation.”

“Oh ha ha, very amusing Detective. The both of you better wipe those smiles off your faces, or I’ll give you something to smile about.”

“It’s because you’re in love boss,” Zsasz adds, teasing in his own way, and Jim can’t not laugh this time.

“Yes thank you, I wasn’t aware of this fact,” Penguin shoves Zsasz’s face forward and continues to pout in the back of the car. “Another word from either of you and you will regret it, understood? I’m not bluffing. I’m not going to spend an entire car trip with you both giggling about my personal life.”

“Sure Penguin,” Jim shakes his head, “whatever you say.” Oh, this is getting far too comfortable. “Never pictured the Riddler for being a nag.”

Penguin sighs, deep, long-suffering, but there’s a certain fondness there as he answers, “you have no idea,” and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Penguin directs them to a building on the far side of town, indicating the back parking lot of a gun range, and Jim drives around the block once before pulling into the lot and parking the car. “You didn’t tell me this is an indoor sale.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Penguin says, a silent ‘duh’ hanging in the air, “do you expect us to conduct our business in broad daylight? No matter,” Penguin holds up a hand, “I will assure you, without a doubt, that I will get my buyer to come outside when we’re done. As a courtesy, she’ll walk me to the door.”

“Fine,” Jim flips down his sun visor to hide his face a little better.

“Victor, we’re up,” Penguin taps Zsasz’s shoulder and the two get out of the car. “We shouldn’t be gone long Detective, but if while we’re in there you hear anything alarming, I’d sit tight. It will be to your benefit.”

“Penguin,” he shouts, but he’s already shut the door and they’re both on their way to the back door of the building. “Damn it.”

Jim rests his arm on the window and leans his forehead against his hand. He doesn’t get a good glimpse of the buyer when she opens the back door, and he’s forced wait until after the sale. Barely ten minutes into the deal there’s a faint bang, maybe a gunshot, maybe a car backfiring, and it pains Jim to sit still, but it  _ is  _ a gun range. Jim keeps telling himself that, it’s just a gun range. Damn it, they’re at a gun range, where Penguin is selling a weapon’s distribution network to this woman.

He hasn’t figured that part out yet. Penguin’s dumping distributors left and right, and for no reason that Jim can figure out. And that apartment still feels strange to Jim. The photo was hidden, but it was still  _ present _ , and Jim can’t imagine either of them being careless with information like that.

The rapid-fire ratta tat tat of what sounds like a semi-automatic is far from comforting, but Jim keeps telling himself that interfering will only hurt his chances of meeting this new buyer, and the worst case scenario is something happening to Penguin, which isn’t bad for him personally, but Riddler will  _ make  _ it bad for Jim, since he was on the scene and, technically, close enough to intervene if things go awry.

He laughs to himself, remembering the half a conversation he got to overhear. They’re past domestic, now it’s just funny to watch their codependency inconvenience Penguin while he’s trying to operate as a mobster. It’s hard to be scared of a guy when he’s getting nagged at by someone who’s, at least in Jim’s mind, dressed for lab work and probably standing in the middle of Bruce’s lab while Alfred gets to hear the Riddler’s half of the conversation. Jim’s going to have to talk to Alfred and get a clear picture of what happened on that end.

The back door to the gun range opens and Jim sits up, hiding his face from view while angling so he can still see who’s coming through the door. There’s a woman Jim doesn’t recognize, with blonde hair in an asymmetric cut, one half very short and the other long, and Penguin, nodding and smiling to her, clasping her hand while he steps onto the concrete step, both apparently satisfied by whatever happened inside. Zsasz appears right after Penguin, standing quietly and watching the buyer, with a briefcase in his hand. Once the door is shut the two of them saunter over to the car and get inside, Penguin sighing happily as he sits and reaches towards the front of the car to take the briefcase from Zsasz.

“Jim you’re a lucky man. She’s so far off the radar the only reason  _ I  _ know her is because she’s an old employee.”

“Just give me her name later, and what the hell happened in there?” He watches Penguin through the rear view mirror as he shrugs.

“We are at a gun range, Detective Gordon,” Penguin shakes his head sadly, as if Jim should have realized that but didn’t, “and Zsasz got to try out a few of her new imports. There were several casualties, but I assure you they’re all of the plywood variety. No blood was shed.”

“So there weren’t any problems?”

“Not every deal is dangerous James,” Penguin says as he opens the briefcase and smiles at the contents. “I must say, however exciting a dangerous deal may be, there’s a great satisfaction in holding a briefcase of hard earned money.”

“Hard earned?”

“Figuratively,” Penguin nods and closes the briefcase. “Now, if you would be so kind Detective, I would prefer stopping at my bank before we return Mr. Zsasz to his ride. I’d feel much safer with the two of you at my side while I make some deposits.”

“I’m sure the Riddler would appreciate it too,” Jim teases, and Penguin sputters. “Do you have to give him a call? Let him know things went fine?”

“No I don’t have to  _ call  _ him.” Penguin sets the briefcase to his left and digs around in his pockets. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yep,” Jim continues driving towards the International Savings Bank of Gotham, while keeping his peripherals trained on Zsasz, but so far he’s calm. No, not calm, because his fingers are twitchy, but he’s calm enough, and when he switches on the radio to something upbeat and poppy Jim notices the twitching stops.

And through the noise of the music Jim can hear whispers, and he sees Penguin in the rear view mirror, hunched over and hiding his phone as he speaks with someone. He gets Zsasz’s attention by lowering the volume, which makes him glare at Jim, until they hear some faint talk, “yes we’re depositing it now. I’m not a  _ fool  _ Ed I'm not going to keep carrying it around.”

“So this is normal for them?” he asks Zsasz, and he nods once as a reply. “How the hell did I miss this?”

“We’ll be back within the hour, one second,” Penguin holds the phone away from his ear and Jim whistles innocently when he taps his shoulder. "Yes, can I help you two?”

“I’d hate to interrupt your phone call.”

“You already have if you didn’t notice,” Penguin says, irritated.

“Did he make you call again boss?”

“No he did not  _ make  _ me call. I chose to call, for the record. It’s called common courtesy, although I doubt the two of you understand the concept.” Penguin puts the phone back to his ear. “No, nothing’s wrong unless you consider rudeness a crime.”

Jim turns the music back up and lets Penguin have a bit of privacy. He adjusts the mirror to see behind the car better instead of just watching Penguin, and he notices a car behind them. He takes the next right, and they follow. A left, and again they’re right behind him. “Hey,” he snaps his fingers in Penguin’s face to get his attention, “we have some company.”

“Ed hold on,” Penguin twists and sighs, “unbelievable.”

“That your eager buyer?”

“No but they work for her.” He slides over and taps Zsasz on the shoulder. “I hope you’re sufficiently warmed up because it’s your time to shine.”

“Got it,” he unholsters his guns and rolls down the window.

“So much for a clean deal,” Jim mutters as he drives towards the outskirts of town, intending to keep this standoff away from the public.

Zsasz fires a single shot, and a tire on the car is blown. They keep following anyway, hunks of rubber flying off the ruined tire as they go. Penguin snaps his phone shut and points, demanding, “pull over here,” and then he screams in surprise when the back windshield is broken.

“Get down boss,” Zsasz says calmly, and Jim sees Penguin comply immediately. “Can I kill them now?”

“Yes!” Penguin shouts.

“Now hold on,” Jim starts saying, but a bullet hitting his side mirror makes him reconsider his complaint.

Zsasz twists and grabs the handle, Jim can practically feel his stitches tearing himself, and he’s out the open door and shooting back in an instant, landing clean shots on two. The third get out of the car, using the door for cover, and firing off a few more shots, all misses. Jim keeps watching, peaking from behind the driver’s seat, one moment watching Penguin cower, the next catching the end of another shot from Zsasz. He still has amazing aim, Jim notices, but he’s also less mobile right now, and a bullet grazes his arm.

“Not close enough,” Zsasz says as he fires off three shots, two hitting the guy in the legs and making him fall, the third finishing him off with one shot to the head. The shooting stops, and Zsasz holsters his gun.

He hears a small snap, Penguin opening his phone again, and making a call. “Yes, hello? This is the Penguin,” he’s angrily talking on his phone, although Jim notices the shake in his free hand, and he’s still lying down even though the shootout is over. “Just give the phone to your boss. She knows what this is about, believe me.”

“Victor, get in the car.” Jim waves him in and Zsasz sits gingerly, holding his side. “You tore them didn’t you.”

He turns the radio up a few ticks and says nothing.

Penguin hangs up and sits up in the back. “Unbelievable. James please direct the GCPD to her operation first. It will be satisfying to see her lose it all in a week.”

“What the hell happened?”

“She refused to speak to me. Hey,” he taps Zsasz on the shoulder, “did you steal that new gun?”

“No, but I thought about it.” He says, clipped, and a bit angry.

“I believe you.” Penguin says, and he taps Jim’s shoulder next. “Bring us by the apartment after we go to the bank. There should be a spare car we can switch the plates to.”

“You mean you’re going to steal a new car.”

“I mean that this car has been procured at an earlier date, and utilizing it now is for the best unless you want me to freeze in this back seat.” Penguin is unamused, and he huddles in his coat. “Now hurry. I can’t imagine she’s given up on getting this money, but once it’s in the accounts it’s no longer my problem to keep it safe.”

Penguin’s bank of choice is apparently unconcerned with Zsasz getting blood on the floor from his wound, but they do give Jim a few odd looks while they wait for Penguin to finish his transactions. He waves at the teller, and she shakes her head as she prepares the deposit slips. Jim resolves himself to just stand quietly for the rest of the visit. Granted, Jim knows this is kind of an odd team, but he didn’t really expect the bank to the the people to remind him of that fact. Either way, the bank gets more of Penguin’s money, his earnings are safe, and they can leave unscathed.

When they get back to the apartment it’s empty, and Zsasz speedwalks past the living room and into a bathroom. He doesn't bother shutting the door, but Jim and Penguin wait while he does, well, Jim has a good idea of what Zsasz is doing, but he’d rather not think about the scars right now. He instead motions to Penguin, and reaches his hand behind the fridge to pull out the photo. “Forget something?”

Penguin snatches it away and slips it into his coat pocket. “Why don’t you mind your own business Detective.”

“I figured it out, why this place felt unlived in. It’s your apartment, you and Riddler’s, right?”

“It’s none of your business,” Penguin reiterates. “You’re incredibly nosy, Detective, and it’s getting on my nerves.”

“Can’t always stand each other?” Penguin’s eyebrow twitches. “Relax. You’re not the first couple to have a cool down spot.”

Penguin straightens and regains his composure, nodding once. “I’ll go tend to Zsasz, since he’s,” Penguin waves a hand, “somewhat, I don’t think fragile is the right word.”

“Unhinged?”

“That’s the one.” Penguin pokes Jim in the chest, and turns to walk into the bathroom.

Jim waits patiently, because if spending a few extra minutes here gets Zsasz to the ambulance and back to Arkham without a fuss it’ll be worth the time. Penguin walks out shortly after he went in, and presents (small bow and all) Zsasz, who looks the same aside from his bloody shirt, which is open, and two bandages on his chest, which look fresh.

“He’ll need a new shirt later, but I’m sure you’re itching to get him back to the drop point, and none of the other clothes here would fit him.” Penguin practically dares Jim to say something, since it’s probably his and Riddler’s clothes here, but Jim refrains. Things are a little more urgent now; he can always ask questions once Zsasz is in Arkham.

And Penguin is right, he does want Zsasz to get back to Arkham, and he’s pleased when the drive goes fine (little traffic, Zsasz is back to stoic, somewhat chilling silence, but calm enough for the drive), but a few blocks from the ambulance Jim can see a few flashing lights, and he calmly turns down an alley before they get to the drop point, which has at least two cop cars parked by the back bumper of the ambulance.

“We have a problem.” He turns around in his seat. “There are GCPD officers by the ambulance.”

“That is an issue,” Penguin says idly, “but Zsasz will go quietly, won’t you.”

Zsasz nods, jerky, and even if that was a convincing response Jim disagrees, “they won’t let him. He’s not exactly a staff favorite.” Jim sighs, “we can bring him to Arkham ourselves if we need to, but even that could get messy.”

“Or Victor could be a great asset when we confront Ivy.”

“No,” he’s stern about this, “we already agreed he was going back after the job.”

But Jim’s still not sure that will work out like he hoped. Maybe his file wasn’t an exaggeration after all. Penguin appears mostly unconcerned, but he is keeping a closer eye on Zsasz than he was before. He pulls out his phone and calls someone, talks quiet enough that Jim can’t hear over the music (which he knows better than to turn down right now), but after he hangs up he directs Jim, “go to the Manor. Alfred has an idea.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super late night surprise update!

Riddler is the one to greet them at the door to the Manor, and he waves for them to follow him through the house and into an office, the same office Jim remembers seeing Bruce in all the time as a teenager, and later as an adult while he was busy working. There’s a doorway where the fireplace usually is, and with some coaxing from Penguin (“we’re not bringing you back yet, you lucky dog you. But you have to listen to me,) they get Zsasz down into what appears to be Bruce’s lab space.

Jim can’t help but treat Zsasz like a time bomb. He’s unstable, and a few hours of clarity don’t make up for the rest of the time, for example right now, where’s he’s dangerous and potentially homicidal. He blames Penguin and Riddler for being so disarming. He’d nearly forgotten to worry about people like Zsasz.

Although, he does recognize that the ambush can’t have helped. Zsasz was alright (for Zsasz) before bullets started flying, and he was already injured to begin with.

“It appears he’s popped some stitches,” Riddler says as he examines the gauze on Zsasz’s side. Zsasz grabs Riddler by the shoulder, gripping tight, and Riddler squeaks, “now Victor-”

“Zsasz,” Penguin uses the same tone parents usually use on a troublemaking kid, “let him go.” He does, but Jim can see he’s reluctant. “Now, it’s my understanding that Alfred’s gone through the trouble of preparing a room for you to use, and no employee of mine is going to snub his hospitality.”

“Right this way if you please,” Alfred says calmly as he steps into the main area of the lab. Jim is impressed, honestly. He does have a moment of panic when he thinks Alfred is bringing him upstairs, but he turns and opens a reinforced door that leads to a small, dimly lit room, bare except for a futon mattress on the floor with a blanket and pillow. Penguin goads Zsasz into going inside (I’d hate to have been made a liar in front of Alfred, our host, and have an employee refuse his generosity), and Alfred shuts and locks the door.

“Thank you for refraining from pulling out your firearm Detective.” Jim was honestly just a bit too stunned to remember it but he nods. “He will be secure in this room.”

“What is it? Panic room?”

“Of a sort, yes. We made this room according to Master Bruce’s specifications for a room one can use to calm down when they are most decidedly  _ not _ .”

“For  _ who _ ?” Jim distinctly remembers Alfred saying they don’t keep criminals overnight.

“For Master Bruce,” Alfred says. “He has not required use for a few years, but in his younger days as the Batman he would occasionally return in a state, and given the abysmal record this city has with treating mental illness he opted to handle things privately.”

“You lock him in there?”

“Per his request. And when he has calmed, he exits the room unharmed.” Alfred walks them all over to a set of monitors and flicks them on, and Zsasz is in all of them, screaming angrily. Jim looks back at the door in shock. “Sound proofing, and the walls, floor, and ceiling are all padded, though not to the extent of a ‘soft room’, but enough to protect fragile bones should someone try to punch a wall.”

“I had no idea.”

“The boy’s parents were murdered in front of him when he was twelve. I’d be more concerned if he  _ didn’t  _ have any sort of lingering effects.” Alfred turns to the main area again, where Penguin and Riddler have apparently gone to stand by the lab benches. Jim didn’t even notice them walk away. “If the two of you don’t refrain from touching things you ought not touch I’ll let the Detective throttle the both of you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it Alfred,” Riddler says, “I’m just showing Oswald here our results.”

“I doubt I should put any faith in that,” Alfred mutters.

“How did things go here?” Jim asks. “With him?”

“We were successful enough. Our sample is far from pure and small in quantity, but we were able to extract a sample of the poison and analyze its structure. An antidote should be synthesized by tonight, I’d suspect sometime around midnight or so.”

“No problems aside from that?” Meaning, Riddler didn’t fuck around or mess with anything important.

“Mr Nygma is well suited for this type of work. And I suspect he’s attempting to stay on your good side, because he was very helpful while assisting me with the extraction.”

“My good side?”

“Following your attempt to arrest them Mr. Nygma has been especially mindful of Mr. Cobblepot’s location. He was rather laconic upon realizing you’d taken Mr. Cobblepot with you to an undisclosed location. Once he learned of Mr. Cobblepot’s plan to complete the deal they’d brokered with an associate, he began talking nonstop, and following my request he ‘shut it’ he called Mr. Cobblepot for a chat.”

“Please tell me you recorded it.”

“I did not I’m afraid, but rest assured, one can assume it was very similar on both ends. Mr. Nygma is only concerned about one person, and when he is concerned he is rather insistent.” Alfred walks over to Riddler and Penguin, and Jim follows. “As stated earlier, this synthesis could take until midnight. I suggest everyone rest up while you are still able to do so.”

“Once it’s ready, we’re leaving to go to Ivy. Tonight.” Jim turns back to Alfred. “Are you alright babysitting Zsasz?” Jim would never forgive himself if something happened to Alfred.

“Detective, unless he somehow becomes superhuman, that door is going to be more than enough to keep him in that room until he’s no longer a danger.”

“He’ll still be a danger.” If Jim can accept a world where Penguin and Riddler take photos together and hide them in their version of the doghouse, he can accept that Zsasz will always be Zsasz, and the associated risks that come along with Zsasz being himself.

“Very much so, but I think we can both agree that there are varying levels of danger for Victor Zsasz.” Jim nods. “But right now we needn’t worry.” He turns the monitor towards Jim and he understands immediately.

“That was fast. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sleep,” Jim admits. “Or that he does sleep honestly.” But there he is, lying on his side on the mattress and legs tangled up in the sheet, eyes shut and his breathing even. “I didn’t think he could.”

“He sleeps about every three days, once the exhaustion really gets a firm hold,” Penguin explains. “Now, I think we’ve all heard the phrase ‘let sleeping dogs lie’, and I’d suggest you all follow its advice in regards to my employee.” He slips his free hand into the crook of Riddler’s elbow. “The two of us are going to get a few hours of sleep, and we’d appreciate it if we weren’t disturbed until it’s time to leave.”

-

Jim can’t fall asleep.

It’s plenty dark out, and the temperature is comfortable, but his mind is racing. Planning. Replanning. He and Penguin and Riddler are confronting Ivy in a few hours. They may find Bruce. They may find him dead or alive or his clothes might be the only thing left, the rest of him already reduced to plant food for Ivy’s ‘darling plants’. It’s hard to remain hopeful.

He has a few missed calls on his cell, all about Zsasz’s breakout of Arkham, concerns for security and safety, and he can’t just tell them that he knows Zsasz isn’t on a spree, but he desperately wants to reassure his colleagues. Look, he’s here, he’s sleeping. He’s not even armed. Things could not be safer on the Zsasz warfront.

He did kill three people, but they  _ were  _ shooting at the car first. Any cop would have seen the same outcome, justified self defense, although Jim can’t say the team would have been as relatively unscathed as they all were. He’s seen the target practice records for the GCPD. Zsasz can still out shoot most, if not all of them.

Jim’s surprised a guy like that can sleep without nightmares.

Maybe being awake is the nightmare.

He can’t stop picturing Bruce in that room, the same angry rage on his face, the screaming. Punching the walls. Just so, so angry.

Jim gives up around eleven, having tossed and turned all night, punctuated by a few naps here and there. Nothing substantial enough to make him feel truly rested, and it didn’t help that he couldn’t keep his concern regarding Zsasz downstairs, and the fact that Jim is trying to sleep in the same house as him right now. It feels fundamentally wrong in so many ways, least of all the fact that Zsasz has been committed to Arkham for life, or until he is able to “properly manage” his illness, which for Gotham means for life.

Jim wanders through the manor, stopping in the kitchen to make some coffee for himself, and he slowly makes his way down into the lab, where he finds Alfred at one of the benches, looking over some readouts from a strange machine.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No, no Detective, this damned machine just refuses to calibrate today.” He smacks the side once and the machine gives off an annoyed beep. Or maybe Jim is tired enough to think the machine is annoyed. He takes another drink of his coffee, just in case it’s the latter. “But I should be done right on schedule.”

“And Zsasz?”

“He’s been asleep, and I suspect he’ll stay that way for a fair amount of time. Having had Victor Zsasz in his employ, I’m willing to believe Mr. Cobblepot is familiar with his sleep patterns and the consequences of waking him. So if you had hopes he could aid you I’m afraid not.”

“God no,” Jim about spits some coffee on some expensive looking equipment, “no, he should stay here, if that’s alright.”

“Given the fact that he’s not causing any mayhem while he’s in the safe room he’s welcome to stay as long as he needs to.”

Following another round of smacking the machine into submission Alfred declares the antidote a success, but cautions that he was only able to make a small amount. He also has no idea how effective it will truly be until it’s tested, which Jim hopes is a fact they’ll never have to learn.

With the antidote prepared and Jim feeling more human after a cup of coffee he wakes Penguin and Riddler, who’ve taken up space in their ‘usual’ bedroom again, comfortably sprawled out on top of the sheets in their underwear and tee-shirts, which Jim just goes on ignoring after he realizes their state of undress. It’s just easier than giving them the satisfaction of getting any sort of rise out of him, and they’re both somewhat upright and getting ready by the time he bolts from the room.

While he waits for them to get ready he occupies his time with explaining their plan to Alfred while organizing his coat and pants so his ammo is accessible, but won’t fall out while he’s running. “Selina recommended we try to confront Ivy at night, hopefully because her strength will be down without the sun.”

“You’re just planning on talking with her correct Detective?” Alfred gestures to the weapons, Jim’s gun and Penguin and Riddler (who’ve just joined them in the entryway), who apparently raided a supply closet for a metal bat and a pair of bolt cutters. “This seems a tad excessive.”

“Ivy’s not usually in a talkative mood on a good day. We’re just taking some precautions Alfred.”

“Yes of course. I’d rather you go over prepared than under,” he chuckles quietly. “Of course, I would offer to assist, but I’m afraid I’m not as fit as I once was.”

“When we need something you’ll be the first person we call.” He taps the small communicator in his ear, courtesy of Alfred. Jim turns to Riddler and Penguin, who thankfully  _ did  _ listen to him and put on something aside from their themed suits, although they’re still dressed smartly in dress pants and button downs, all in dark tones. Penguin is pulling a pea coat over his waistcoat, and Riddler shrugs on a lined trench coat. “Do you two think we’re having a business meeting?”

“Maybe we like looking nice, James,” Penguin takes a step and slow swings the bat, “and I am more than capable of swinging a bat while dressed to the nines.”

“Fine,” he adjusts his own coat and scarf, having watched the temperature drop at least ten degrees since he got back to the Manor. “When we get to the district, I don’t care how you do it, but you two need to hide yourselves while we’re near Arkham. Selina thinks she might be in Arkham Bridge Park.”

“In a house made of glass, the only residents make the nearby neighbors green with envy.”

“Greenhouse, yeah, that’s what she thought.” He turns towards Alfred, who’s standing by the front door. “We’ll try to make this quick.”

Alfred opens the door for them and hands Jim a cooler, “Keep the antidote chilled to preserve its potency. Good luck gentlemen. If you need any sort of information I’ll be in in the Batcave, awaiting your call.”

-

Jim is quiet for the first part of the drive, but he can’t  _ not  _ say something. “I can’t believe he calls it the Batcave.”

“And you think  _ we’re  _ crazy,” Penguin says.

“Bruce having,” he pauses, “ _ quirks  _ doesn't really have any bearing on the two of you and your issues.”

“He has more than a few quirks, Detective,” Penguin leans forward a bit, “but he fits right in here in Gotham.”

He’s not going to get into the ‘crazy is the new normal’ Gotham’s been embracing for about twenty years. He can’t deny it either, because there’s clearly something off about this city, considering Batman, and the two villains in his car,  _ Ivy  _ is part plant. The city is far from normal.

“You two have dealt with Ivy more than I have. Any tips?”

“Don’t touch her plants,” Riddler begins, “or get hit by anything that looks sharp, because she does have a poison or two in her arsenal. I would honestly recommend bringing her a plant if we have time, claim we rescued it from some store that over or under waters their plants, possibly some soluble fertilizer so she can grow her plants stronger. Be mindful of the plants, Detective. That is the key.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He turns the car towards the Arkham and motions with his hand, “time to get out of sight, okay? I’ll tell you when we’re in the clear.”

If someone had told him he would be hiding these two from the Arkham staff in order to keep them out, he would’ve told them to go to Arkham themselves. He drives carefully, because the streets are plowed but somewhat snow packed, and the last thing they need is to get into a car accident right before following up on this lead. The road only goes by the front gate for about a minute, but Jim doesn’t want to take any chances, not when they’re so close. He has a gut feeling, the first one he’s had since he started this case, and he’s not going to ignore it now.

The park has better lighting nowadays, and the sinister, angry trees are neatly trimmed and maintained. Jim pulls into the parking lot nearest the greenhouse and turns off the car. He turns around, and turns back, coughing politely to get them to  _ disengage  _ long enough to remember that they’re here for a reason.

“You two want to postpone anything you’re up to until  _ after  _ we talk to Ivy?”

“What do you think we managed to  _ do  _ exactly Detective? It’s been two minutes.” Penguin sits up and shakes his head. “Honestly.”

“Detective we’re in our  _ forties _ .” Riddler says, and Jim has never, in his life, felt this old before.

“Well you don’t look it,” he says. It’s true though. A few extra pounds here (Penguin), some crows feet there (Riddler), other than that the two of them haven’t changed much.

“That’s because we have  _ money _ , James.”

Fair enough. He gets out of the car first, leaving the door open enough to let in a chill, and the two emerge, clothes and hair still in place, excluding one lock gone astray on Riddler’s forehead. Jim shuts his door and starts leading the way up to the greenhouse entrance.

“Alfred,” he taps the small communicator as they walk towards the main gate, “are there blueprints for the greenhouse available?”

“I’ll look into the public record Detective,” he says. Jim can hear the quiet clack of keys on a keyboard, then a small, satisfied hum, “it appears to be a two story building Detective, with the lower level all being storage for the facility. The building was closed one year ago, following an incident which caused the unfortunate death of a college student. It appears the cause of death was poisoning.”

“Poisoning. What the hell poisoned them?”

“Detective,” Riddler taps his shoulder, “is it possible that it was Ivy’s poison? What better way to have a more protected location than getting it closed to the public.”

“Maybe,” he turns his attention to the lock and chain on the door handles, “we need to be careful while we’re in here. Keep to the paths, look over your shoulders-”

“Do you think we’re novices, Detective?” Penguin asks as Riddler places his bolt cutters around a link of the chain. “Did you forget who we are?”

“Just watch each other’s backs, mine included,” he taps Riddler’s shoulder to get him to move aside when he starts cutting the chain, “I can cut-”

The chain snaps clean and Riddler deftly snaps the other side of the link before pulling the chain away and opening the door, “shall we Detective?”

Jim eyes him a bit warily, and tells himself it’s because he’s remembering Riddler back when he was just Ed Nygma, the riddle loving oddball of the GCPD. Now  _ that  _ Riddler, pre-Riddler, would have never been able to get through that chain without asking for help.

The building is more run down than Jim would have expected after only one year. The plants are all overgrown and drooping into the aisles; the walkways are beginning to crack from roots attempting to creep up from under the cement. The lights from the nearby streetlamps streams in through the windows, but there are plenty of shadows being cast from the tall trees and giant leaves. There’s a single crack in one of the panes on the domed roof, just a bit of snow trailing in and a very light breeze. The rest of the greenhouse is rather humid.

“She has access to power,” Penguin says, indicating the heaters on the wall with his bat, “she must turn on the heaters to keep it warm.”

He taps the communicator again, “Alfred, Ivy’s definitely here. Is there some sort of big room she’d be in?”

“The greenhouse consists of three large rectangular rooms and a circular atrium on the south end of the middle building. It’s possible she’s in the atrium. The schematics have indicated the presence of a fountain in this room.”

“Fresh water, thanks Alfred,” he indicates they walk forward, “there are pipes in the atrium. She’s probably in there.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some blood/depictions of injuries here

“What always runs but never walks, often murmurs, never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never eats?”

“Water, that’s what I was thinking,” Jim walks around a large root and ducks under some low hanging branches, “watch your heads.” He’s a bit worried Penguin’s going to end up tripping; he’s been stiff since the stairs incident, and his cane is absent so he can use the bat.

Jim hears a slithering sound to his left, and startles, cocking his gun and watching as a vine slides across the floor. “Ivy’s definitely here.”

“I’d suggest we move quickly Detective,” Riddler turns so he’s stepping backwards, watching the vine as they continue across the center building, “she appears to be a bit agitated.”

He taps Riddler’s shoulder before he can trip backwards over another root, “so let’s not give her any reason to get more angry,” he holsters his gun, “remember we’re here to talk.”

The plants are larger closer to the atrium, more wild and unruly. Giant flowers with thick, fleshy leaves look like they’re almost breathing, there’s no breeze this far into the building, but the branches sway slightly. The colors are more vibrant, and everything appears more alive, animated, like they could get up out of the soil and walk around freely.

“Only in Gotham,” Jim whispers. He indicates a second lock and chain around the atrium doors and Riddler bends down to get to work, “once it’s open be ready.”

“As if I was planning on barging in there, metaphorical guns blazing,” Riddler glances up with a smile before turning back, “did you know this idiom-”

A series of vines surge through the door, knocking Riddler back and wrapping around one of his ankles. Jim reaches for him, but Ivy’s fast, dragging Riddler into the room and sending him across the room to land in a heap.

“Ed!” Penguin grips the bat and swings at the vines as they approach. Jim drags him to the side so they’re against the wall.

“Keep your cool,” he holds Penguin in place, “Ivy, we just want to talk.”

“Get. Out.” He can’t tell what part of the room her voice is coming from, but it’s definitely her. “Out!”

Vines surge forward again, going for Penguin and Jim. Penguin swings, knocking a few vines off their course. Jim pulls out his gun and fires twice, warning shots. Against the other wall, Riddler is stirring, groaning as he tries to stand. Vines grab his leg again and start dragging him towards the fountain, and Jim shoots closer to the source, a giant amalgamation of vines and thick, fleshy stems, and the vine retreats.

Penguin swings again, and starts rushing across the room. He swings at another vine as it comes closer, but he doesn’t see the vine behind him. Jim opens his mouth, a shout of warning already halfway out, “Behind y-”

It grabs his bad leg, dragging him down and across the room. He scrambles, bat clattering across the floor towards Riddler, who’s already dragged himself up and reaches down for the weapon, they both watch as Penguin kicks with his free leg, gripping tight on a stone railing leading down towards the fountain. Jim shoots, and the vine releases, but new vines replace it, wrapping around both of his legs.

“Ivy! We’re not here to hurt you!” He keeps his gun at the ready just in case. “We want to talk, Ivy.”

The vines go slack, and Jim breathes a sigh of relief. Penguin struggles up onto his feet, and laughs. He looks to Jim, to Riddler, and a rush of vines slam into his back and send him flying. He turns around, tries to right himself, but he can’t with his leg, and the vines shove him up and out, and slam him into the wall.

He screams, grabs at his thigh, and it’s then when Jim sees the stake sticking out of his left leg.

“Ivy!” He turns around so he’s watching the vines, “Ivy, we’re here to talk, please,” he and Riddler rush over to Penguin, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

He sees her, in the shadows by the fountain, vines at the ready. They weren’t prepared, not for this. Penguin’s whimpering, Riddler is holding Penguin steady, “a simple procedure, don’t move and the wound will stay small.”

“Is this poisoned? She has poison, she  _ is  _ poison. Oh God it’s poisoned isn’t it?”

“Detective we need to retrieve Alfred’s antidote from the car-”

“Quiet, give me a second,” he puts a hand on Riddler’s arm, “Ivy, we won’t hurt you. We won’t hurt your plants,” he adds as an afterthought, assuming she’ll care more about the plants than herself. “We just want to talk.”

Ivy stutters to a stop, vines freezing in midair, and she straightens. The vines all fall to the floor, inanimate. The room is silent, aside from Penguin’s panic. Something’s not right about this, about how readily she stopped attacking them. They weren’t equipped to handle her; she should have already dealt with the three of them easy.

“Why’s she stopped?” He looks back at Riddler, who’s understandably preoccupied with the Penguin’s predicament. “Something’s wrong here.”

“Detective as much as I agree with you I’d look upon our good fortunes now and ask the deep, philosophical questions later,” Riddler says, rapid-fire and panicky.

“Right, fine.” But he’s not letting this drop.

“To talk,” she’s walking closer, but the vines have stopped for good, apparently.

“Yes, to talk.” When she stops, blinking at Jim expectantly (her pupils are blown wide, and Jim notes this for later), he asks, “let them leave, and we’ll talk, just you and me.” Ivy says nothing, just continues to blink at Jim, and he takes it as a yes. “Get your bolt cutters.”

“Detective if she’s poisoned him-”

“It’s metal,” he indicates the rebar, and the ruined foundation exposing the metal, “it’s not poisoned. It’s just part of the building. Cut it, and get him to the car. Do you know triage?”

Riddler nods, “yes, in theory. I’m familiar with the concept if you’re implying otherwise.”

“If you need help call Alfred,” he hands over the communicator, “and he’ll walk you through it. Get a tourniquet, keep his leg elevated, and do not remove the rebar. Once I’m done in here, we’re going to Selina.”

“Selina?”

“She’s closer.” He pulls the car keys from his pocket. “He’s not poisoned, but he might be going into shock. Keep him warm and as calm as possible.”

Riddler nods and rushes across the room for the bolt cutters. Jim takes over keeping Penguin upright, “it’s just rebar, you’re not poisoned.”

“You don’t know, Detective, you don’t  _ know _ .”

“I  _ do _ know.” Jim stares straight into his eyes. “Okay? I do know. We’re going to get you out of here, and you’ll be fine.” Riddler returns with the bolt cutters, and this time he lets Jim cut the bar. He puts the cutters against the metal and squeezes,” it’s thick, try to keep him steady.”

It takes a couple tries, and the bolt cutters are shot afterwards, but he gets through the rebar, likely damages and weakened from whatever caused it to become exposed in the first place. Riddler gets under Penguin’s left arm and helps him stand. His pants are bloody, and a small puddle formed while Jim was trying to cut the rebar. It’s already partially soaked into a few nearby plant roots.

“That’s comforting. Ivy,” he gets her attention, and he holsters his gun, “no weapons, okay? I mean it.”

“Gun,” she holds out a hand, and Jim nods. He removes the clip before handing it over, careful to keep his movements slow and steady. “Talk.”

“I just have a few questions,” and he needs to get out to the car  _ fast  _ so they can get that rebar out of Penguin’s leg. He hopes Selina stocked up on some antibacterial sprays or ointments. That rebar is definitely not clean. “I’m not here to arrest you, or to try and take you away from your plants, I just need to know if you have Batman here.” Ivy’s eyes narrow. “Ivy, we know he was told you’re killing all those people. I’ve seen the missing person’s reports and the murders.”

“They’ve harmed millions Detective. All of my plants, crying out because of their carelessness.”

“I know,” he tries to placate her. They have all the time in the world to come back here and stop her another day, with a hell of a lot more back up, but Bruce may be on the brink of death as they speak, “and I know Batman came here looking for you, didn’t he? Because he knew you were doing it too.”

“He was here.”

“Was?”

“He was there,” she points to a pod-like thing, with thick leaves and a wide, open center, big enough for a person to sit curled up inside, “but he took him.”

“He? Ivy, you need to tell me who took Batman from you.”

She blinks, pupils blown wide; her head tilts to the left, “he was here.”

“I know that, where is he now?”

“He was in there, yesterday.”

“Ivy who took Batman from you?” She hands Jim his gun back and starts walking over to the fountain. “Ivy. Ivy you need to tell me who took him.”

“He was here,” she points again, and Jim shakes his head. He grabs the bat from the floor. “In there.”

Jim takes a moment to walk over to the pod, and examines the walls made of leaves. They’re thick, and the scratches and gouge marks in the leaves suggest someone was inside. He can’t tell that it was definitely Bruce, but he has a hunch. “Was he alive?”

“He’s alive. He was there.”

“Yeah I got that part.” He pockets his gun and starts walking to the door, then breaks into a steady jog to try and catch up to Penguin and Riddler.

-

They’re still slogging through the snow in front of the greenhouse when Jim catches up. He helps essentially carry/drag Penguin to the car, a trail of blood dripping behind them, stained dark in the shadows made by the streetlights.

“Okay, get in on the other side,” Jim gestures with his chin to the rear passenger side door, and Riddler slips inside. He opens the other door and Jim helps Penguin ease down so he’s lying in the back of the car, his impaled leg propped up as much as possible. “Okay, take this,” he hands Riddler his coat, “and cover him up. I’ll to the tourniquet.”

“Detective we need to leave.”

“I got that, now hold still for me,” he tells the Penguin. Jim takes off his belt and double wraps it around Penguin’s injured leg. He fastens it tightly and finishes propping up Penguin’s leg, “good, okay. Try to keep him calm.” He nods weakly, Jim gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car. Penguin begins groaning in pain and whimpering when the movement of the car accelerating jostles him. “Give him the antidote Alfred made.”

“Detective-”

“Just in  _ case _ okay? It won’t hurt him if he didn’t get poisoned.”

Riddler’s mouth quivers, but he nods, and takes out the prepared syringe and injects Penguin with a dose.

Jim calls Alfred first using the communicator, “Alfred, Penguin’s hurt. I don’t think he was poisoned but we gave him a dose. We’re going to Selina’s, but we need some antibiotics, maybe something for tetanus.”

“I’ll see what we have in our supply and meet you there.”

“Thanks.” Jim turns off the communicator and calls Selina next. “Selina-”

“Gordon why are you calling me?”

“Not a lot of time,” he starts driving faster once they’re past Arkham Asylum, “Penguin has a thing of rebar in his leg. You know how to handle that?”

“Detective do you know the potential dangers of such an injury?” Riddler asks, a bit unsteady and shaky. Jim shushes him.

“Selina can you handle that?” He asks again, more firmly this time.

“Uh, sure yeah. Let me clean off my table and I’ll help you drag his butt up here. Honk twice.”

“Be there in five.” He tosses his phone and puts all his focus on driving.

“Detective!”

“What, okay? What do you want?” He’s trying to  _ drive _ . Time is valuable.

“Exsanguination! Loss of life! Permanent-”

“You’re not helping!” Jim turns around long enough to stare Riddler in the face. “Okay? I know you’re scared. I understand that, but you need to keep him  _ calm _ .”

Riddler takes a shaky breath and nods. He starts petting Penguin’s hair, holding one of his hands and whispering something to him. Apologies, for the bout of panic, but also something else, facts maybe, or possibly memories. Jim puts his focus back on driving. The roads near Selina’s apartment are poorly maintained in the winter, and he will  _ not  _ crash this car while Penguin is losing blood in the back.

He will be okay, Jim tells himself. He’ll be okay, because Selina knows how to take care of herself, and by extension others. And they’re nearly there, and Riddler hasn’t started freaking out more than he already is, so things can’t have gone too far south.

“How’re you two doing back there?”

“There’s a hunk of metal in my  _ leg _ ,” Penguin whimpers.

“I know.” Jim turns a corner in Selina’s neighborhood. “I know, and we’re going to have to get your sorry ass upstairs to her apartment.”

“I’ll take that as an insult to my  _ weight _ , James,” he says quietly, he’s getting a little faint. Jim glances back and Riddler looks at him, pleading, and Jim nods and pulls up into the alley by Selina’s place.

He honks twice and rolls down the window to yell, “Selina!”

One of the windows opens and she slips out, sliding down the outside of the fire escape and landing gracefully on the ground. She hurries over to the car and Jim turns it off before getting out. “It isn’t pretty,” he warns as he opens the back door, “hey, help him sit up.”

Riddler’s nearly catatonic; he silently helps shove Penguin upright and into Selina’s arms. Jim gets under his injured side’s arm and the two of them start helping him up to the fire escape.

“Why the hell does your fire escape have a ladder?”

“Only  _ one _ ,” she does this crazy upside down climb and continues to tug Penguin up, “get under him and offer some  _ help _ , Gordon.”

Penguin’s arms are shaking, and without Jim and Selina’s help he wouldn’t have made it up the ladder, but once he’s past that point Selina is enough to get him up the rest of the way to her apartment, which allows Jim to address the fact that Riddler is still sitting in the car, with the door wide open, shivering in the cold but not making any move to come inside.

“Hey, Riddler,” he doesn’t move, “Ed!” He flinches and turns towards Jim. “Come on,” he holds out a hand and tugs him out of the car. He didn’t expect Riddler, Ed, (he really  _ does  _ feel like the Ed Nygma Jim knew) to be the one going into shock, but he’s not going to let him freeze to death in the car. “He needs you, okay? This isn’t going to be a picnic.”

He pushes Ed gently until he’s climbing up the ladder, and continues to guide him up the stairs portion of the fire escape. When the get into Selina’s apartment they find Oswald (if anything’s going to humanize these two it’s this right here) lying on the table, breathing fast while Selina washes her hands and starts wiping off her scissors.

“You,” she points to Ed and gestures with the scissors, “hold his hand or something.”

“Right,” Ed answers, laconic and quiet. He moves around the table and sits in a chair beside Oswald’s head and takes hold of his hands.

“What’s the plan?” Jim asks while glancing at Oswald. His pant leg is soaked with blood.

“We get started,” she snags a pair of gloves on and starts cutting the bottom hem of Oswald’s pants.

“Hey wh-what are you doing?” he fights her weakly.

“I got to get to the wound,” she says as she removes the belt. Then she slides the scissors up and exposes Oswald’s leg up to the rebar, and clips a small part of his boxer briefs (thank god she only cut a portion) so she can get to both sides of the rebar. “Okay, once I get this out we’re moving fast. Stitches work for you?”

“What?” Oswald asks, wide-eyed and scared.

“I have to close the wound, okay?” She says slowly. “So after I clean it up I’m stitching it.”

“Okay,” he gulps, “okay.”

Selina works quickly after that, and Jim has to look away when she starts actually removing the rebar, but he has an alright excuse when Alfred arrives partway into the back alley procedure and offers up a small bottle of antibiotics. “I believe this will help with the tetanus you mentioned.”

“Thank you,” Jim walks around the table and Alfred joins him, offering up some help with the removal and cleaning. Ed is grim-faced and unhappy, and continues to whisper with Oswald. Once the rebar is completely out he sighs in relief, and puts his forehead on Oswald’s shoulder.

When things get messy, and when Jim thinks messy he means terrifying, because Oswald is losing a fair amount of blood once the rebar is out, but Selina is calm, and her hands move deftly as she carefully closes up the wounds and applies pressure with a few squares of gauze.

Oswald definitely does not like the part where he’s not getting any pain medication for the stitches, but he just hisses and squeezes Ed’s hands tighter, and they get through it quickly.

“How is he?” Jim asks. He’s felt completely useless during this; his only role was getting Oswald here relatively safely.

“Bleeding, but less,” she wipes at the wounds carefully once the bleeding has slowed and sprays some antibacterial spray onto them, which makes Oswald groan quietly.

“I believe he’s anemic,” Alfred adds, “but we’ll give him some supplements and water to help turn things around.”

“Should he have a transfusion?” Jim’s not sure what the cutoff for getting blood is, but he’s fairly sure this is close.

“We’ll monitor him closely,” Alfred says, and looks at Ed, who’s cupping Oswald’s cheek and stroking his thumb over Oswald’s skin. “I’m sure any problem that arises won’t go unnoticed, Detective.”

“Yeah,” Jim nods. “I’ll get the water.”

He makes himself useful by getting water ready for Oswald and Selina, and digs out the iron supplements from Selina’s stash. She and Alfred are wrapping up Oswald’s leg when he gets back, and he sets aside the glasses and pills so he can help relocate Oswald (once his leg is cleaned up and his cut pants are gone) onto Selina’s bed. He protests when they make him take the antibiotics and supplements (“I just got impaled and you’re making me take pills?” “That’s exactly  _ why  _ you need to take these Oswald.”), but they get him to drink a little water and eat a small stack of saltines before he basically passes out, breath slow and even as he rests on his side, his injured leg on top of a pillow between his legs and Ed sitting behind him, doting and finally,  _ finally  _ starting to come back to himself.


	12. Chapter 12

Jim finally feels useful as he helps clean up Selina’s mess of a kitchen. Everything that ended up bloody is thrown out in a large trash bag, and surfaces are wiped clean with some bleach water.

“He’s lucky,” Selina says quietly. She glances over at Ed and Oswald and makes a face, “you’d think Ed’s the one that took the hit. He’ll live, by the way, if that was somehow still up in the air.”

“Thank you,” Jim says instead of commenting. He’s not sure what he’s going to do about Ed Nygma and his current state, but he knows he should do or say  _ something  _ to the guy. “For helping, I already know Ed’s messed up about this.”

“I don’t imagine any of us are surprised he’s upset,” Alfred replies with a tight smile. He looks exhausted, about as exhausted as Jim feels.

“Not really, no,” Jim says as he stands up and pours another glass in the kitchen before walking across the room to stand by the bed, taking some initiative to keep Ed from getting any worse. Ed doesn’t notice at first, and flinches when he turns his head enough to see Jim standing there. “I brought you some water.”

Ed nods and takes the glass, taking a few small sips and wetting his lips. He whispers “thank you,” and goes back to watching Oswald.

Jim turns and makes a motion to shoo Selina and Alfred out of the apartment, which Alfred jumps up to comply to, but Selina scrunches her nose at him. Jim crosses the room in a few strides, “can you two vacate for a minute or two? Or maybe an hour?”

“Vacate my own place? You owe me  _ big _ ,” Selina stands and grabs her hooded jacket, “but I guess I do want to get some fresh clothes.”

Come to think of it, “Alfred, if it isn’t too much trouble could you get some for us too?”

“Yes, I think everyone would do well to get out of these bloody clothes. Miss Kyle, if you would like you may accompany me. I’m sure the car will warm up quickly to ward off the chill.”

“Sure,” she says, thankfully taking the hint to just get out of here so Jim can try to figure out if anything can be done or if Ed just needs to be a basket case for a couple days.

Jim drags a chair over to the bed and sits. “She says he’ll be alright, Ed.”

“While you live we cannot part, I must live lifelong inside you locked within your beating heart.”

“Blood?”

“Blood loss, but I,” he trails off and shakes his head.

Jim takes a moment to grab Oswald’s wrist and feel his pulse, a bit weaker than he would like but steady, and firm enough to not worry about for now. “Pulse is okay. You know what to look for right?”

Ed blinks fast and nods. He sucks in a breath, maybe he intended to tell Jim another riddle, but instead he starts crying quietly, tossing his glasses aside and covering his face, and Jim is left sitting there stunned. He stands, he’s not sure why but here he is, and he claps a hand on Ed’s shoulder. Ed leans until his forehead is against Jim’s side, and Jim’s just there somehow, standing awkwardly and patting his shoulder.

It must be because of relief, tinged with a lingering worry. Jim’s felt this before. He keeps his hand in place and stands around awkwardly, letting Ed quietly sob into his shirt, and wondering what exactly went so wrong in one week to cause Jim to find himself here in this moment. Thankfully, Oswald continues sleeping, breath as slow and steady as ever, and the dressings on his wounds showing no signs of popped stitches or other complications. He’s thankful. Jim’s not sure he could handle this little event being known outside of the two of them.

“Pull yourself together Ed. You’re in your forties for god’s sake.” He says so lightly, and pats his back again. In any case, he seems to be calming down. “He’s going to be alright, just needs some rest. You should try to sleep too. It’s been a long night.”

“Detective,” he wheezes, “did you know two to eight percent of the population is plagued by nightmares?” He sits up and grabs his glasses from the edge of the bed, tears down to basically nothing. “Do you ever wonder if the majority of those adults reside here in Gotham? If the city skews the percentage?”

“I wonder a lot of things about this city,” he admits. “Been having nightmares Nygma?”

He looks at Oswald sleeping peacefully, and back to Jim. “If I have it, I don't share it. If I share it, I don't have it. What is it?”

“Secrets.” Jim answers. “You’re not telling him?”

“I’m leaving him with the impression that they are in fact, decreasing in frequency. But, your suggestion is correct, sleep is important.” He stands up from the bed. “Detective, if I’m to sleep I’d prefer getting rid of these soiled clothes, and if you’re uncomfortable with partial nudity I’d suggest you avert your eyes.”

He smiles at Jim, and Jim just sighs tiredly.

Jim occupies himself in the kitchen, getting some water for himself along with some food from Selina’s fridge, and by the time he’s back in the main area of Selina’s apartment Nygma’s removed his coat and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor by the table, and crawled into bed behind Oswald, one arm wrapped around Oswald’s waist. Jim tosses the afghan from the foot of the bed onto them, and Nygma sits up long enough, while nodding a thank you to Jim, to drag it over the two of them before lying back down.

Jim’s going to have a hell of a time processing this.

He quickly eats a few pieces of lunch meat without bothering to put it on a sandwich and drains his water glass. Then, he rummages through Selina’s cabinets and finds a half empty bottle of scotch under her sink. He sniffs it, and upon deciding it  _ is  _ just scotch, pours himself a small glass and nurses it while reclining on the couch.

So, they’re human. Jim can accept that as an important first step to figuring this out. Somehow, someway, there’s still a shred of humanity in the two of them. Jim’s been slowly easing into this mindset, the idea that there are people under all that showmanship and extravagance, but tonight it hit him all at once.

_ It’s Ed _ , he thinks, because he remembers earnest, puzzle solving Ed at the GCPD, the person he knew he could trust to find the missing pieces in an autopsy, or see crazy connections in cases. The person he  _ thought _ , at least in his own weird way, wanted to help people with his abilities.

And he’s doing it here and now.

Jim has only just finished his glass of scotch when Selina and Alfred return with clothes for Selina, but also a bag with casual wear clothes for Jim, Ed, and Oswald. Jim accepts his stack of clean clothes and changes in the bathroom, taking a moment to wash his face before slipping on sweats and a long sleeved shirt. When he returns to the couch he pours himself another glass, and Selina scrunches her nose at Jim when she sees what he’s drinking.

“That’s mine you know. Thief.”

“Ha.” He takes another drink and leans back on the couch. “You’re lucky I didn’t finish the bottle.” He leans forward and caps it to keep the cats from tipping it over. “But I’ll save some for Oswald. That leg is going to hurt like hell.”

“I took the initiative to get him some pain medication while we were out.” Alfred sets a small orange bottle of prescription strength pain medication on the coffee table. Jim picks it up, intending to ask how he got this, but he sees the name ‘Wayne, Bruce’ on the label. “A year ago Master Bruce broke two bones in his hand and stubbornly refused to take his pain medication. It’s technically expired but I’m going to assume Mr. Cobblepot won’t refuse to take in on those grounds.”

“I know I wouldn’t say no.” Jim tips his glass back and takes his last drink. “Bruce wasn’t there, Alfred, but he used to be.”

“Alive?”

“I think so.” He sets down his glass to stop himself from pouring another drink. “Whoever is really running the show took him from Ivy. He might’ve been a target of this guy all along. Either way, I don’t think whoever is doing this killed Bruce, or Gotham would’ve either seen a spike in activity from one of the factions, or they would’ve publicized his downfall.” Jim leans forward. “She had him in a pod, I think to weaken him. It looked like he tried to get out, and there wasn’t any blood.”

“Is she controlling him now?” Alfred asks, the worry on his face obvious.

“If she was we probably would have been attacked by Bruce.” He shakes his head. “And something was off about Ivy.”

“That’s nothing new,” Selina says. “She’s been off since I’ve known her.”

“More than usual,” Jim clarifies, “she was attacking us, then she just stopped for no reason, unless she’s gotten into the habit of listening when someone asks nicely.”

“Could this, this mastermind, be controlling her?” Alfred asks.

“I think he has to be. Ivy’s not known for teaming up with people like this.” Jim nods to himself. “Maybe she’s not allowed to kill unless she’s told.”

“Doubt that,” Selina says, “or she couldn’t protect her secrets. Maybe she’s been mind controlled. She’s not the only one with that kind of tool in her arsenal. Kind of ironic.”

“Maybe,” Jim agrees. “When I asked who took Bruce, she kept telling me he used to be in the pod. She wouldn’t tell me any names. It was like she couldn’t.”

“How will you discover her possible handler’s identity if she cannot tell you?” Alfred asks. “She’s not about to reveal the truth if she’s under someone’s control.”

“I honestly have no idea,” Jim admits, “but I’ll try to brainstorm with Ed in the morning.” He stands, and glances out the window, catching a small glimpse of the rising sun. “Christ it  _ is  _ morning.”

“Do you know how long it takes to get rebar out of someone’s leg?” Selina asks, though it’s clearly rhetorical, “because I do. I had to do it four hours ago.”

“I need to sleep.” Jim presses on his eyes. “I’ll use this couch if that’s alright.”

“Sure thing Jim, you’re at least not using my bed,” Selina says, then looks past Jim’s shoulder and smirks, “need something puzzle boy?”

Jim turns around and finds Ed standing there, still in only his dress shirt and his boxers, and no glasses, clearly still mostly asleep. “Right. Although Oswald and I realize you’re all discussing this case, Oswald has requested I ask the three of you-”

“Just tell them to shut up, Ed.” Oswald snaps from across the room, sitting up and glaring. Ed flinches at his tone, but nods. “If the three of you have forgotten, I just had a hunk of metal removed from my leg. I know you’re all a bit unfamiliar with how that feels, but I assure you it is not a pleasant experience. So, if you could hold off on this little discussion for a few hours I would be very grateful.”

“I’ll do you one better bird.” Selina stands and swipes the pill bottle off the coffee table. “Pain meds, courtesy of Bruce himself, sort of.” She shakes the bottle as she walks past Ed, who’s still a bit shellshocked.

“Nygma,” Jim calls him over and he walks so he’s standing behind the couch. “Selina and Alfred brought you both some clean clothes.” Ed says nothing. Jim takes a moment to pour some more scotch into his glass and hands it to Ed. “Here. Take the edge off.”

Ed drains the glass in one drink and hands it back to Jim. His mouth quirks in what Jim assumes was supposed to be a smile, but just looks like a grimace. He returns to the bed without bothering to change out of his clothes and settles back into his original place.

“Well then. Now that everything is settled here I will be returning to the Manor, Detective.”

“Alfred you don’t have to do that.”

“I do, Detective. We’re down a dose, and Victor Zsasz is still a guest of sorts in the Manor. I would prefer not leaving him unmonitored for long.” Alfred stands and approaches the window. “Sleep well Detective Gordon, Miss Kyle. We’ve a busy day ahead of us.”

“We’ll come by once we’ve slept.” Jim feels like he’d crash into a wall if he tried to drive right now. “If we  _ do  _ figure out who we’re going after, we should probably move at night.” Alfred nods, and he exits the window. “They probably know we’re looking into things now that we’ve seen Ivy. I doubt our visit will go unmentioned. If they didn’t know someone was onto them, they do now.”

“Probably.” Selina agrees. “So you’re out of here by tonight?”

“I think we can’t really afford to  _ not  _ leave and at least try to figure some of this out.”

“And  _ I’ll  _ finally get a bed again.” Selina reclines in her chair and accepts when a cat when it jumps onto her lap. “You owe me big now Gordon.”

“I’ll replace your scotch.”

“Don’t bother, I stole that anyway.” She points to the light switch. “Hit that will you? And draw the blinds. It’s going to get bright in another half an hour.”

-

Jim knew he was tired after last night, but he has never, in his entire life, slept through an entire day, but here he is, blinking awake after sundown. Selina is no longer in her chair, or in the apartment at all. There’s a shape on the bed, Oswald probably, but no Ed, and after another scan of the apartment Jim finds Ed sitting in a chair he’s brought over to the window. Noteworthy, he’s dressed in the clothes Selina brought him, and Jim assumes Oswald is also dressed. Good. This means they can get over to the Manor faster.

“Ed,” Jim tries to get his attention, but Ed keeps watching the light snow outside, and when Jim stands by his chair he sees why. He’s crying again, quietly this time. “Is Oswald alright?”

“Fine, he’s fine,” Ed wipes his face with his sleeve. “He awoke sometime midday, and Selina changed his bandages before leaving. In fact, the wounds don’t even look infected.”

“So you’re upset because?” Jim trails off, hoping he’ll answer.

“Do you know how unlikely it is that he’ll recover fully Detective? Do you truly understand how restricted his motion is already?”

“I don’t,” he says. He’s not sorry for not knowing the finer details of Oswald’s disability; he’s simply never been told more than ‘he has trouble walking’ and that’s all he’s ever really needed. This is the first time he’s had any sort of stake in Oswald’s well-being, and it’s still not fully for his benefit. “I know he was injured. I know it didn’t heal properly, because he didn’t go to a doctor I’m assuming.”

And he didn’t go again.

“Ed, we can get him an actual doctor. They might be able-”

“He won’t go.” Ed’s steels his expression, but the worried crinkle at the corners of his eyes is still obvious. “He won’t subject himself to them. They’d want to put him under. To take away his control.” Ed shakes his head. “Good luck, Detective, is all I’m saying.”

“So, what? You’re upset because it’s hopeless? Because he won’t accept help?”

Ed’s mouth quirks. “Once again, Detective, you don’t have all the information. That’s becoming a trend for you.”

“So fill me in,” Jim shrugs. “You’ve both told me more in two days that actually mattered then you have in ten years.”

“You called me Ed. And him Oswald. Don’t think I didn’t notice the shift Detective.” Ed stands, upset feelings forgotten in favor of whatever this tantrum is, “and just to clarify, you calling us by our names doesn’t mean we’re on friendly terms.”

“Fine.” Jim honestly doesn’t know what to say to him anymore. “Is he going to wake up soon? We need to get going.”

“Being awake and being able to get downstairs are two different things.”

“Right,” Jim sighs. Back when Jim was younger he would’ve kidded himself and claimed he could carry Oswald down, but with the aid of hindsight, and another fifteen years of life, he knows he can’t carry him. He and Ed together could  _ maybe  _ carry him if they worked together, but neither of them can climb upside down on a ladder. “Well, let’s get his opinion.”

He walks over to the bed, despite Ed’s protests, and pulls back the blanket. Oswald groans and curls up a little, pulling a pillow over his head even though there’s no bright lights. Reflex, maybe, or maybe he’s pretending to still be asleep. Jim, being the one that’s fully awake, takes the pillow too, and Oswald glares up at him in the dim light.

“Hey, you good to leave?”

“My apologizes Oswald I tried to stop him-”

Oswald holds up a hand, and Ed quiets. He sits up, stretching out his back, and makes a fist with his left hand. “I. Am in  _ pain _ .”

“You can have more pain meds.” Probably. Jim didn’t actually read the dosage for the pills when he first picked them up, but he assumes they’ve all been heeding the recommended dose. “Think you can handle a ladder?”

Oswald laughs. “Oh  _ James _ , you’re precious when you’re optimistic. You see, this is why I admired you. Somehow you’re still assuming the best of me, even when not even twenty-four hours ago I had a piece of the wall in my leg.” Oswald reaches out a hand, grabs Ed’s when it appears close to him, and struggles out of the bed and onto his feet, although he’s greatly favoring his left leg. “Do I look ladder ready James? Maybe I should do a little cardio to warm up first?”

“I’ll call Selina. Nygma, get him his next dose.” Jim crosses the room and digs his phone out of his coat. He calls Selina, and sighs in relief when she answers. “Selina, thank god. Are you busy?”

“Business is slow,” she says, drawling a bit. She must be in front of people. “What do you need from little old me?”

“Oswald can’t use your ladder. We need an alternative.”

“Is that all? Do you see the dresser on the wall?”

“Yes?” Jim walks over to the wall and looks at the dresser. “What about it?”

“Open it up and see.”

Jim pulls one of the handles, expecting stolen goods or clothes, and instead he finds a door. He opens the other door for the dresser, and steps inside, grabbing the handle to the door and clicking the lock. “Selina what is this?”

“Hallway’s too open if someone tries to come after me in my home, so I made it a last resort. Just be sure to shut the dresser doors behind you, and I’ll handle the lock when I get home.”

“Why didn’t we use this last night?” He asks, angry and kind of pissed.

“You’ll understand when you get out there. Trust me.”

Jim closes his phone without saying anything else, and turns back to Ed and Oswald, who’re attempting to walk towards the window. “Hey, we have our alternative.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long bonus update in response to tonight's episode!

“When you stepped into that closet I assumed you were losing your mind,” Oswald says as he and Ed change directions, “but I can see that apparently we need to lambaste Selina for not having the sense to bring us this way in the first place.”

Jim nods, but the second he steps out into the actual hallway, he understands. At some point a back wall caved in, right by the stairs. The rubble looks uneven (the outer wall is brick and mortar) and unstable, and the hallway is very poorly lit.

“Okay,” he blinks a couple times to make sure he’s seeing things properly, and yeah, there’s a good reason Selina made them use the ladder. Jim doesn’t even know what the rest of the building looks like, but he can’t imagine it being any better. “So, she might’ve been right. Ed, shut the dresser doors when you’re through.”

“Is this building even structurally sound?” Oswald shrieks the moment he’s out into the hallway, leaning on Jim until Ed joins them.

“There’s probably a good reason it’s no longer rent controlled.” And why no one ever bothers to try and find Selina in her home. Jim lets Ed take Oswald back, and he starts walking forward to lead the way, but after a couple minutes of the two of them shuffling along at a slow pace Jim comes back to Oswald’s uninjured side and offers up his shoulder, which Oswald takes gratefully. They still traverse the halls slowly, because the lights aren’t on out here and nothing looks secure, but Oswald’s not looking near as pained with his weight being supported on both sides.

“I feel I can speak freely with the two of you.” Oswald looks at Ed, then Jim, a somewhat loopy smile on his face. Jim’s going to remember this prescription because it works  _ fast _ . “If I had to pick between being shot and last night’s little event, I’d choose the bullet.”

Ed pulls a face, grimacing uncomfortably over Oswald’s head, and Jim tries to convey a shrug without jostling Oswald.

“Don’t misinterpret that dear Ed,” Oswald about topples the three of them when he stops walking to address Ed fully, “I’m not  _ asking  _ to be shot.”

Ed shakes his head and pushes Oswald forward. “This isn’t the time or place.”

“I’m going to have to agree with Ed,” Jim says as he steps over a larger brick. “Wait till we get out of the building Oswald.”

“Isn’t that just so amusing, Ed?” Oswald about falls over a brick and Jim and Ed have to basically lift him over it to get him onto the first step. “James has finally accepted us.”

“Not. Now.”

“It’s so refreshing to know you  _ can  _ change your mind about something. So many people are just so damn stubborn these days, especially-”

“Shut! Up!” Ed gets up in Oswald’s face, angry and snarling. He’s dropped Oswald’s arm, and Jim is holding Oswald up himself while he gapes like a fish. “Your continued persistence to avoid taking this seriously is staggering.”

Jim speaks up when Oswald appears to be unable to say anything. “Ed, he’s on  _ meds _ for fuck’s sake.”

Ed fumes, huffing breaths out his nose, and then he turns and goes down the steps the rest of the way, leaving Jim alone with Oswald and another three flights to go down.

“The hell was that?” Jim looks at Oswald, who’s still stunned, his mouth hanging open. “Come on he’s  _ your  _ boyfriend. Don’t look at me like I’m going to know what’s going on with him.”

“He just  _ left  _ us here!” Oswald shouts, looking bewildered and offended now that he’s past the ‘gape like a fish’ routine he was going with before.

“Doesn’t look like he’s coming back either,” Jim sighs. “Let’s just get down there so he doesn’t freeze to death waiting outside.” He moves so he’s on Oswald’s injured side and starts guiding him down the stairs.

Their pace is painfully slow; Oswald needs to rest frequently because his blood loss makes him lightheaded, and more than once he’s forced to put weight on his bad leg in order to properly avoid bricks and other litter on the stairs. Jim feels a mix of sympathy for Ed, who’s genuinely freaking out and torn up about this, and sympathy for Oswald, who might be more terrified by this than he’s letting on, who actually got hurt, and who’s only saying some of this because he’s high on pain medication. He’s also irritated, because it feels like he’s trying to deal with teenagers on a mood roller coaster rather than two forty-something adult  _ men _ .

It doesn’t help that they’re coats all suffered greatly last night, and while Selina’s apartment had some basic heating the rest of the building does not, so not having his coat anymore isn’t pleasant. The only thing the building has going for it is a lack of wind, and sometimes it doesn’t even have  _ that  _ benefit.

But Jim has to admit, aside from the general terror that every step will be his last because the building will collapse, taking this alternate route is easier on Oswald, who’s tired and winded but not any worse for wear, and Jim gets him out to the car before too long.

Ed is there, sulking, shivering by the rear driver’s side door, and refusing to look up when Jim helps Oswald over to the car. He does, however, accept the responsibility of keeping Oswald upright while Jim unlocks the car and lets them all in, cranking up the heat full blast and accepting the initial cold air because before long it gives way to a warm, pleasant heat.

Jim doesn’t hear a word from either of them on the way to the Manor, but every time he glances back using the rear view mirror they’re clingy and, maybe, trying to talk without using words. But Jim can’t really handle the silence while they’re both having different versions of a meltdown, so he tries to distract them both.

“Hey Oswald, you  _ do  _ know I’ll be warning the GCPD about your escape tactic you used for Zsasz.”

There’s a long pause, and a sigh, and then Oswald answers, “James, if you sincerely believe that we’re planning on using that same plan a second time, when the first one didn’t work flawlessly in the first place, then I’m disappointed in your opinions of us.”

Jim can hear the relief in Oswald’s voice through the criticism, and he tries to keep conversation light but engaging during the rest of the trip. Ed never speaks up, back to being a basket case, but the wild look in his eyes is gone by the time Jim pulls up the driveway for Wayne Manor and parks the car.

“Leave the car on,” is the first thing Ed says, and when Jim turns around he sees this pleading, begging face staring back at him. “Please.”

Jim nods and hands over the keys. “Come to the lab when you’re done.”

He can admit that he’s bailing because he doesn’t think they’ll work through whatever this is while having an audience. Jim rushes into the Manor and rubs his hands together to get feeling back in his fingers, which never fully warmed up from being in Selina’s unheated building. After taking some time to make coffee, and setting out some extra mugs in case the smell entices anyone else upstairs, he takes his mug and a mug for Alfred down into the lab.

Alfred is asleep at one of the benches, head resting on his arms, and Jim smiles sympathetically and sets the mug down before gently shaking Alfred’s back, which he should have realized would startle him. Up until five minutes ago his only house guest was Zsasz, and unless something’s changed he should still be in the safe room. Jim avoids a punch and Alfred comes around quickly, shaking his head and honing in on the coffee Jim brought him.

“I see you’re alone,” Alfred says between sips of coffee. “Didn’t off them on the way over did you?”

“No, they’re,” he pauses, because he doesn’t really know  _ what  _ they’re doing, “they’re still in the car.”

“Odd place considering the Manor is here and properly heated,” Alfred comments, but he’s moving past it in favor of showing Jim a fresh set of antidote he’s whipped up. “I was able to prepare another three batches of the antidote while you all recuperated at Miss Kyle’s apartment. I trust you were all able to recuperate?”

“Yeah, he’s in pain but the antibiotics are working.”

“And Mr. Nygma?”

“He’s,” Jim scratches his head, “he’s getting there.”

And Jim hopes that’s actually the case, because he needs Ed if they’re going to make any progress on the case. Countless Gotham villains have used mind control in one form or another, and Jim has no idea if there are any clues he’s not seeing to point to a specific method.

“Nygma had a little meltdown when we were leaving.”

“I’m told he’s prone to those under stress.”

By Bruce no doubt. And Jim has to agree. “I think it’s just hitting him late. He was fine enough to sleep for awhile. Same here I hope.”

Alfred directs Jim’s attention to the monitors. “I was able to set up a round of synthesis and slept during the first half. Mr. Zsasz has continued to sleep undisturbed, but has begun showing signs of waking. Although I’m sure we could both handle his wake up I would prefer to have Mr. Cobblepot present when he first leaves the room.”

“If they don’t come inside soon I’ll go back out there.”

Thankfully, Jim doesn’t have to, and Ed comes in escorting Oswald on his arm, the pink tinge to their cheeks and newly relaxed expressions giving Jim a little bit of an idea as to exactly went on in the back of the car, but he’s not going to question their life-affirming activities. He just wants them to stop acting like fucking children.

“Welcome back. Zsasz is waking up.”

“Oh I cannot believe what good timing that is,” Oswald gushes to Ed, and Ed gives him a confused but fond look, “I do enjoy my conversations with Zsasz.”

“You hardly speak to him unless you’re calling him without my knowledge.” Ed says, still bewildered, still doting as Oswald drags him over to the monitors. “He does appear to be rousing from slumber.”

And Oswald’s medication has kicked in fully. Jim asks, “leg feeling alright?”

“Oh James it feels  _ fantastic _ .” He puts a hand on Jim’s arm, and Jim’s eyes open wide in confusion. “Tell me James, have you ever felt truly happy? Why, a couple pills and a little, ahem, physical affection from someone you care for and I’m on cloud nine.”

Ed coughs, blushing, “we have to discuss our next potential move, correct Detective?”

“Yeah,” he is thankful Ed agrees that whatever happened in the car is not a topic to continue discussing, “so, Alfred, Selina, and I think Ivy is being mind controlled somehow.”

“Based on her demeanor I’d have to agree.” Ed shushes Oswald when he tries to get Ed’s attention. “A moment, please. I think it’s understood that because Ivy used pheromones to control others, and those pheromones are produced by her, she is not susceptible, so it  _ has  _ to be this mysterious outside influence.”

“She kept saying ‘he took him’, which narrows us down a little.” Jim wishes she’d said more, but he knows she won’t, and talking with her again is far from preferable. “So, our profile is a Gotham villain, male, can use some form of mind control.”

“It’s a little unfortunate that those traits don’t actually narrow the search down,” he pauses when Oswald smacks the side of his face a little, “ _ what _ , Oswa-are you alright?”

Oswald is pale and clammy, and he is definitely not okay.

“Lie him down,” Alfred says, and Jim and Ed move quickly to get Oswald in a comfortable position on the floor. “He might’ve torn a stitch.”

_ How can one stitch do this _ ? Jim thinks.

“Mr. Nygma, help me expose the bandages,” he says, and Ed and Alfred get Oswald’s sweats down enough to show the bandages, which are stained red. It’s the front stitches, and Jim looks to Ed, amazed he missed this somehow. “Mr. Cobblepot, I need you to stay awake. Now, did you feel this happen?”

“No?” Oswald gulps, and squeezes Ed’s hand. “No, well, on the second landing- but-”

“Detective, we’re going to need Miss Kyle. Urgently, if that was not clear.”

“Got it,” Jim reaches out his hand to Ed, who stares at him blankly for a moment before pulling the keys out of his pocket and handing them over, “I’ll be quick.”

-

“So, explain to me again, exactly  _ how  _ he popped these stitches?”

Jim can feel a few years of his life just slipping away as she asks him that. He glances over at Selina and her disgruntled expression, already a bit put out because Jim interrupted her business again, but she agreed to come when he told her why she needed to come to the Manor.

“Either four flights of stairs, whatever those two did back there after I went inside, or a combination of the two. I think it started during the climb.”

“And a little fooling around in the car made it worse.” Selina sighs and tips her head against the back of the seat. “How’s a girl supposed to make a living in this town? I can’t keep doing all of this pro-bono Jim.”

“I don’t  _ want  _ you to have to do this either.” Jim slows his speed a bit when he notices the state of the roads. “It’s the blood loss, I think. We didn’t give him anything to help with that.”

“I’ll patch him up.” Selina kicks her feet up onto the dash. “Just remember to forget everything you saw in my apartment and we’ll be even.”

“This time, I’ll agree with you.” Hell, he’ll  _ help _ her steal something if she pulls this off. The only reason he’s not speeding, okay the only two reasons, are the weather, and the fact that Alfred would’ve called if things got more urgent than they already are.

“Cool.” She sits up when Jim pulls back into the Manor and she’s out the door before he fully parks, leaving it wide open as she rushes into the front door. Jim parks and puts the car in order before rushing after her.

Oswald is still on the floor, but his injured leg is elevated. Selina is already in the middle of cleaning up the wound when Jim gets down into the lab, and Jim hones in on Ed. “Nygma, hey,” he puts a hand on his back and jostles Ed gently, “we’ll get this figured out.”

“Alfred you got any plasma on hand?” Selina asks, and Ed sucks in a breath.

“Are we sure he shouldn’t go see a doctor?” Jim asks.

“No!” Oswald shouts, and Ed snaps to attention enough to start calming Oswald by petting his hair. “I will not see a doctor.”

“Of course not,” Ed agrees with Oswald, touching his clammy face, keeping him awake while Alfred rushes off and Selina begins stitching the wound back together. He returns with a medical bag and an IV, and Selina’s already taken charge and exposed one of Oswald’s elbows before Alfred can even ask. Then Jim realizes it’s because she’s the one doing everything, and she starts tying a band around Oswald’s upper arm and tapping the crook of his elbow.

“Okay, keep him very still because his veins are really tiny.” She motions for Jim to move, and he does, allowing more light into her work area. “Going in three, two,” and she inserts the IV.

“Were you successful Miss Kyle?” Alfred hesitates to lift the bag until she nods and undoes the band, and then Alfred stands.

“Let me,” Jim offers, because he needs to feel useful, and he stays in place, acting as Oswald’s IV stand while he gets a plasma transfusion. Alfred and Selina finish some extra cleaning and bandaging of his wound, and Ed holds Oswald’s hand.

“If any of you have any strange notion that I’m going to move from this spot you’re sorely mistaken, friend,” Oswald says tiredly. “Unless you all plan on carrying me out of this lab. I’d personally prefer if you did so on a mattress of sorts, but I suppose I could make due with a comfortable chair.”

“You’ve been through hell  _ twice  _ Oswald,” Jim says. Two bouts of stitches, a back alley removal, this transfusion. Not to mention the black eye is  _ still  _ lingering. He looks like he got the shit beat out of him ten times over. “We’ll just get Zsasz to carry you.”

“I think I’d prefer if you just left me here,” Oswald tugs at Ed’s shirt, and Ed moves so Oswald’s head can lie on his crossed legs. “Not that this wasn’t an exciting evening, but I believe I’m feeling a bit tired and not really up to discussing mind control right now.”

“How about you Ed?” Nygma looks up at Jim. He’s not panicked, but he’s not calm either. Tense, he’s definitely tense, the hand that isn’t touching Oswald’s head is clenched into a fist. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, stress can cloud judgement Detective, but did you know it does so by making a person focus on more positive outcomes? I’d hate to approach this with an unhealthy sense of optimism.” He chuckles. “We could be the root cause to our own failure if that were the case.”

“Right, I’m sure it can wait.” Jim isn’t in the mood to help Ed be pessimistic. “How are you feeling Oswald?”

“Lightheaded.” He smiles. “In pain. I am a fan of all the doting attention. And while I’m sure there is a great deal of concern for my well-being I think we can all agree that this was a minor speedbump.”

“More like a sinkhole.” Jim shifts the bag to his other hand. “Seriously, you have to take it easy. You were lucky. From now on, the two of you are desk jockeys. No more running around Gotham.”

Ed mouths ‘thank you’ and begins to slowly unclench his hand. And as put out as Oswald is trying to look he makes no move to get up off the floor. Alfred returns with an IV stand, and Jim hands over the plasma, somewhat bewildered that Wayne Manor is so well stocked, but not as surprised as he would have been a few days ago.

“I imagine you don’t want to spend the entire night standing here until this transfusion is done.” Alfred hooks up the bag. “Mr. Cobblepot this is merely a bandaid solution to counteract your low blood volume. You will continue to feel the effects of anemia until your body is able to replace the red blood cells you’ve lost.”

“Don’t worry about me Alfred. Ed has some experience nursing me back to health.” He pats a hand on Ed’s knee. “And Jim, as a show of gratitude for all you’ve done to help us during my recovery up until this point, I’m bestowing my blessing on you. If you need any sort of assistance moving forward, you have my word that Victor Zsasz will have your back.”

“Thanks,” Jim says, sarcastic, “I’ll remember that.”

“I mean that wholeheartedly James. I don’t offer his services lightly, especially not in this day and age.” Oswald starts to sit up, brushing off Ed’s attempt to keep him lying down. “If there is anything, and I do mean anything that money or manpower can solve, I’m your man.”

“Let’s get you feeling better, then we’ll discuss whoever’s controlling Ivy and has Bruce, and  _ then  _ we’ll see if we need Zsasz to do anything. Sound good?” His pocket starts buzzing, and Jim walks away for a moment so he can answer his phone. “Hello?”

“Jim? I’ve been trying your phone all day.”

“Captain,” Jim looks back at Ed and Oswald, “sorry. I’ve been real busy with family.”

“Did you get my messages? Arkham Asylum is in an uproar. Zsasz is out rampaging through the streets somewhere and we have no leads aside from the names of two paramedics, and they’re in the wind.”

“Captain,” he starts, but she interrupts.

“Jim, I know you’re on bereavement, and if this was anything else I wouldn’t call you in, but you know better than anyone what Zsasz is capable of.”

“It’s alright Captain.” He really should balance his time between this case and trying to put out the fires at the GCPD. “I’ll come in tomorrow morning and help with the case.”

He hangs up and goes back over to the monitors, and finds that Zsasz is upright, sitting on the bed. “When it rains it pours,” he says to himself. “Cobblepot, hey, what’s the protocol for Zsasz?”

“He’s going to be a bit listless, quiet, but amicable. I’d say now is an opportune time if you’re looking for him to be agreeable.”

“Detective,” Ed pipes up, “his stitches need tending to unless he’s learned proper wound care.”

“Good thing Selina’s still here. Listen, I have to go into the precinct tomorrow. Zsasz getting out is still a big deal for Gotham. Once I figure out the whole situation and find a way to do this calmly he’s going back, no gunfire, no big commotion.”

“As I said before James, he’ll go quietly. That was the plan all along.” Penguin shakes his head sadly. “It’s a shame your colleagues are so unwilling to accept his peaceful surrender.”

“They will,” Jim looks back at the monitors, at Zsasz and his unnerving stare back even though it’s just a camera, and Jim sighs. “Can you guarantee he’ll listen to you?”

“I swear on my mother’s grave.” A swear Oswald’s not going to ever make lightly. “Does that mean you’re letting my guard dog out for a run?”

“Only if Alfred says it’s okay. I’ll find Selina, see if she can do some more stitches before she cuts and runs.”

He doesn’t have to go far. Selina is in the office connected to the lab, digging through Bruce’s books and, possibly, looking for something to steal. Jim knocks on the wall next to the doorway, and she turns with a start.

“Perusing the selection? I think the East Drawing Room is the real goldmine if Ed hasn’t taken everything worth anything.”

“What do you want Gordon?”

“How would you like to put in a few more stitches?”

Selina crosses her arms. “Bird brain can’t keep those stitches in place for twenty minutes?”

“It’s for Zsasz.” He says, and grimaces. “I know what that sounds like.”

“Oh, do you? You’re asking me to put stitches on Victor Zsasz.” She shakes her head. “If you think I’m doing that for free, forget it. Penguin’s one thing, but Zsasz?”

“I know, Selina. I know.”

“And you already agreed to forget everything in my apartment so you’re out of leverage.”

Jim rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know what you want from me Selina. I can’t help you with a job. I can’t  _ condone  _ any more criminal activity than I already have or my conscience is going to have a meltdown.”

“Maybe,” Selina taps her chin, thinking, “you can just owe me, Jim. That’s never bit you in the ass before.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Selina-”

“You can owe me, Jim, and I’ll do you this giant favor for you.” She starts walking towards the fireplace, and yells up to him as she descends the stairs to the lab, “a  _ huge  _ favor! Gigantic!”

“Thank you!” he yells down, and Jim retreats to the room he’s been using to try and repair his ruined sleep schedule.


	14. Chapter 14

In the early morning Jim wakes up feeling overtired from sleeping so much, but well rested enough to handle going into the GCPD and putting out a few fires. What he can’t handle though, is walking into the kitchen for a quick piece of toast and seeing the back of Zsasz’s bald head, shoulders hunched over something. Jim keeps walking and turns, and Zsasz stares at Jim as he spoons a spoonful of cereal and milk into his mouth.

“Didn’t know they had cereal,” he says, because he can’t figure out what else he should say. Zsasz gets protective of his bowl, and Jim holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m in a hurry. What is there for breakfast?”

“There’s a box of Lucky Charms,” he says, serious and intense as he continues to eat his overly sugary cereal. Jim’s fairly certain he hasn’t blinked since Jim moved into his line of sight.

“I can’t do this,” Jim shakes his head, “why are you up here? No, don’t answer that,” he can tell it was going to be literal, like ‘I’m eating breakfast’ or the like, “where is Alfred? Or Oswald?”

Zsasz points, and Jim turns around and finds Alfred standing in the doorway. “Good morning Detective.”

“Alfred. This your idea?” He points over his shoulder with his thumb at Zsasz. He can hear the crunch of cereal as he takes another bite.

“No, but Mr. Cobblepot recommended he be fed.” Alfred sounds so tired of all this. “I’m not a begging man, Detective, but believe me when I say it will be greatly appreciated if you hurry back.”

“I’ll do my best Alfred.” He nods towards the table. “Zsasz.”

“James Gordon.”

Jim hesitates a moment, raising his hand up and saying so many different things in his head, but he just shakes his head and leaves the kitchen without getting any toast.

Jim spends his drive to the GCPD office trying to work out what he’s going to tell his captain. He needs to get a feel for the atmosphere in the precinct before he can truly decide, but Jim knows telling the room he knows where Zsasz is will go poorly. Hey, funny story, he’s just hanging out in Wayne Manor eating a bowl of Lucky Charms with milk. That wouldn’t really go over well.

He really, really doesn’t want this trip to end with him deciding Zsasz should stay but he keeps getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. Oswald is out of commission until his leg heals properly, or as well as it can get considering the circumstances, and Ed’s been somewhat traumatized by Oswald’s injury. Right now, for planning purposes, they’re a linked unit, and JIm already told them they’re on desk duty from this point forward.

Jim can’t trust anyone in the GCPD, not really, because any of them could also be mind controlled. Right now, he hates to admit this to even himself, Zsasz may be an asset. Selina might help too, even if it costs Jim a damn life debt, but Zsasz is feared for a reason.

No, no, he can’t think like it’s already decided. Zsasz is going back to Arkham. This was the plan two days ago, and it’s still the plan now.

He just has to figure out how.

The unfortunate reality he keeps coming back to is, in order to do this quietly, they need Bruce to bring him in, and they obviously  _ can’t  _ right now. And sure, maybe someone could dress as the Batman, but it’s impractical, and possibly not an option if he doesn’t have spare armor. Jim hates this on a fundamental, visceral level.

But maybe he’s been around pessimists too long. His colleagues are reasonable people, for the most part, and he knows them well enough to catch anything odd. They respect him and his input; his years of experience during Gotham’s transitional years are valuable. The city lost a lot of good cops those years, a fair number because of Zsasz.

The outcome he’s most afraid of is an officer killing Zsasz after a peaceful surrender is agreed upon. Or maybe the officers bringing him in not being careful enough and allowing an opening. All he needs is a second, because Zsasz is fast and also completely detached from the concept that he shouldn’t be able to move as freely while he’s healing. This lack of physical awareness makes him truly dangerous, because pain won’t slow him down unless he loses consciousness or dies.

Oswald wouldn’t be too pleased, but he’s not someone Jim is actively trying to win over.

He can’t believe he’s worried about Zsasz’s life.

Scratch that, he still can’t believe Zsasz was just sitting there eating a bowl of fucking Lucky Charms.

Jim can’t decide what he’ll need to do for sure, but he can usually assess a situation quickly, and once he gets a better feel for everyone’s opinion regarding Zsasz he can figure out a plan moving forward.

As soon as Jim parks he sees one of the armored trucks being prepped, not a good sign. He hurries inside and, swear to God, he has never seen this many fully decked out officers in one place, not since he came back from the war. All of his pipe dreams about bringing Zsasz in quietly without Bruce implode before his eyes.

“Jim,” the captain calls him over. “Thanks for coming in today.”

“No problem.” He looks around the room, at a loss for words, or at least words that aren’t swearing. “Doesn’t this seem a little extreme for one guy?”

“Only if the one guy isn’t Victor Zsasz. Listen, you’re well-versed with Zsasz. Can you give the troops a little pep talk? Give them some reassurances that they’re well prepared.”

“No one’s really prepared for Zsasz,” Jim says, still being haunted by the Lucky Charms, “but sure Captain, I’ll do my best.”

Jim stands on the elevated landing, gobsmacked, as everyone begins assembling and looking to him. Sure, he agreed to calm the troops, but he hadn’t really counted just how many troops there are, all for Zsasz. Jim knows Zsasz, he knows what he’s capable of, but half the precinct is a little much. The captain nudges him, and Jim nods before beginning.

“Some of you are familiar with Victor Zsasz. Some of you haven’t had the uh, the pleasure of meeting him in person.” There’s only a couple chuckles, and mostly just awkward looking around. “Most of you know that meeting Zsasz face to face doesn’t go well if you’re in his way.”

“But he’s just one man. You’re many. And you are going to work together, have each other’s backs. Captain, the details?”

She smiles at Jim, and nods in thanks. “Victor Zsasz escaped from Arkham two days ago, and there has been no sign of him since. He’s obviously gotten help, and our most likely suspect is the Penguin, who’s also broken out some time ago. Penguin is a past employer of Zsasz, and his sudden escape must coincide with some big plan of his.”

Or, he’s at Wayne Manor, maybe he’s still passed out on the floor of Bruce’s lab, or maybe Ed managed to drag his sorry ass upstairs to a real bed. And maybe Zsasz is playing the role of the faithful guard dog, skulking through the halls and protecting his handlers.

Someone near the front raises a hand and asks, “Captain, what about the Riddler? He also escaped Arkham.”

Jim has this foreign, strange urge to protect Ed from the prying of these people. He wishes there was a mirror he could use so he could give himself an ‘are you fucking serious?’ look.

“So has Harley Quinn,” she says back, “and Joker, and countless others. They’ve worked together in the past, so expect them to be working together on this, but don’t be disappointed if their escapes are unrelated. A returned criminal is still a returned criminal, and it makes Gotham a safer place for its citizens.”

Jim scans the room again, at the heavy metal jacket weapons and the bullet proof vests, and shakes his head in bewilderment. Safe nothing, this feels like a war, only the other side has a squirt gun.

“We’ll be splitting into five teams. North, South, East, West, and Downtown. When necessary in your tasks you are authorized to use deadly force.”

“Captain,” he says quietly, and she turns to look at him. He needs to get out of here, or no, he can’t leave, but he needs to give the Manor fair warning. When he looks at her more closely, he pauses, hesitating, because he doesn’t remember her pupils being that large before. Pupils. Ivy. “I need to,” he blinks, “to call my family, let them know this is an all day activity.”

“Sure,” she turns back to the group and Jim bolts from the room to call the Manor.

And he feels some of the tension leave already when someone picks up right away. “Alfred? Listen, we have a big-”

“Hey Detective Gordon,” Zsasz interrupts him with a greeting.

“Why are you answering the phone.” He can’t, can  _ not  _ deal with this.

“You called here,” he says, matter-of-factly, and past what Jim assumes is a mouthful of Lucky Charms, “and I picked up first.”

“Just get me Alfred, or hell, get me  _ anyone  _ else. Please.”

“You’re not very polite Jim Gordon.”

“Zsasz-!”

He doesn’t get to say what he wants, which was currently only a string of explicatives with a noun in there somewhere, because he overhears a muffled “give me that will you” and Alfred apologizing. “Can’t afford a moment’s peace in this house.”

“He causing you any trouble?”

“Not unless you consider eating all the breakfast cereal in the pantry trouble. I’ll choose having to make an extra trip to the store over anything else he could manage.”

“We have a bit problem here. The Captain’s off the deep end. I think whoever’s controlling Ivy is controlling her too.”

“What has she  _ done  _ exactly, Detective?”

“There’s about thirty or more heavily equipped officers here ready to sweep the city for Zsasz and anyone else that should be serving time in Arkham.”

Alfred says nothing for a moment, then calmly agrees, “that does sound like a problem. Will you be returning to the Manor before lunch?”

“No, I need to play along or they’ll get suspicious. Just keep everyone at the Manor inside, maybe far away from the windows. And let me talk to Nygma. I have a job for him.”

“Certainly.”

Jim watches over his shoulder, nervous that someone will come in and hear him warning known criminals to lie low, but everyone is still finishing up their prep for the day’s task.

“Detective? I was told you have a job for me?”

“Ed, yes, um, I need you to start looking into the mind control. Look in case files and criminal profiles to see if you can find anything in anyone’s history. You two need to listen when Alfred tells you to lie low understand?”

“Oswald is, quite literally, lying low. On a couch in the lab,” he clarifies. “Stairs weren’t recommended until after more than twenty-four hours to allow the wound to heal.”

“Good. Work down there. We’re already spread pretty thin and I’d hate to lose half the team.”

“Detective,” Ed sounds flattered, “does that mean you trust us?”

“It means I can recognize when someone’s not hindering an investigation. Get to work.” He hangs up. “Now I just have to stop a war.”

-

Jim finds himself sitting in a car, munching on some donuts because he neglected to eat anything before he left. He’s on the downtown team, in a stakeout car waiting to give their team the signal regarding a “potential hideout” for Zsasz in an old weapons warehouse.

His companion in the car is an incredibly young detective Jim hasn’t personally met before today, but he’s going to go far. He actually reminds Jim of himself back when he first started, but without the military background and twice the do-gooder, righteous attitude. During the drive, he’d talked non-stop about cleaning up the streets and reminding people who’s really out there to protect them, which Jim took to mean he’s not a fan of Bruce’s hobby. He’s going to have to learn the hard way that things in Gotham are seldom black and white.

“Have you seen them?”

“Nothing so far,” Jim sits back with a sigh of relief. After all their little ragtag team has been through this week Jim feels a weird fondness for Ed and Oswald, although he’s keeping that to himself.

“But you’ve seen them before right? Not today, but, well you’ve been with the GCPD since before any of these guys started this whole, whatever it is.”

“Yes,” Jim says, relieved all over again, because he’d about had a heart attack when the kid asked if he'd seen them today, which he  _ has _ . “I have had plenty of close calls with a lot of Gotham’s more,” he pauses, because crazy just doesn’t feel right, “eccentric criminals. Why?”

“Do you have any advice? I’ve read all the files,” of course he has, “but a few pages of paper really doesn’t give you a full picture.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Jim glances out the windshield once more, noting that no, those two haven’t gone on a stroll all the way downtown, and sits back. “These people, they’re not “normal” by most standards, and even in our files we think of them as the Riddler, or the Penguin or Joker, but I think we’ve all forgotten that under all the costumes and elaborate personas, there are real,  _ actual  _ people under there somewhere, and people can sometimes be reasoned with. Sometimes,” he reiterates, because it’s definitely not an all or nothing concept.

“Do you think we’re not handling things right?”

“I think that, if what we’re doing was working then we’d have already seen results.” Saying this out loud, something he’s not really considered until now, leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “Anyway, that’s just my opinion. I’m sure plenty of people think we’re doing our best, but there’s always a way to handle things better, more peacefully.”

Greene doesn’t comment, maybe not willing to speak against their captain and her over the top decision to sweep the city for criminals. When he does speak, it’s not about the assault teams. “I can’t imagine any of them as people, you know, like going to the store. Sleeping. That kind of thing. It’s too normal.”

“LIke I said, it’s hard to remember sometimes. Did you know the Riddler used to work for the GCPD?” Greene shakes his head. “He was in forensics, and he was damn good at it too.”

“So, what changed? What makes a guy go from forensics to this?”

Jim sighs, “a lot of things, not that any of them are particularly open about any of their reasons.” He can see the lack of sympathy on his partner’s part, but he can understand that feeling. “What did you say your name is?”

“Greene, Sam Greene.”

“Greene, okay,” Jim rests an elbow on the door beside him, “look at it this way, some of them, sure, they’re pretty far gone into these worlds they’ve created for themselves,” and Jim knows that no matter how strange and disarming Zsasz is when he’s sitting around eating cereal, he’ll never get to a point of  _ not  _ belonging in Arkham Asylum, “but I don’t think all of them are unsalvageable.”

Greene is quiet, thoughtful maybe, and Jim considers asking him more questions, but his phone starts ringing before he can think of any. “Hold on, keep an eye out there will you?” He flips open his phone and answers, “hello?”

“Detective,” Ed exclaims, and Jim glances over at Greene, “before I continue with this conversation I’d like to know, are you alone wherever you may be?”

“No.”

“Oh this is perfect, you’re going to have to just listen to me then, and make sure to pepper in some supportive words or phrases so you don’t look like an idiot in front of whoever you’re with.”

“No, I don’t want a set of china,” he holds the phone away from his ear so he can’t hear Ed questioning his choice of words, “sorry, family’s going through some of my aunt’s things. She didn’t have a will.”

“No problem,” Greene says, eyes still scanning the streets.

“You still there?”

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t ignore me when what I’m saying is important.” He’s in a  _ mood _ . “Thanks to your precious GCPD’s unwillingness to share their files I’m unable to access anything from here. Maybe once we get Bruce back you should consider giving him some direct access to alleviate any of this frustration in the future.”

“Maybe.” Jim swears under his breath. He knows what this means.

“I’m going to need some physical access to a computer in the GCPD, preferably after hours, and preferably without anyone attempting to drag me back to Arkham.” Ed is quiet for a moment. “I trust this is something we can work out once you’re done with your little project?”

“Sure.”

“And I trust we’re in agreement when I tell you that  _ I’m  _ the only one you’ll be escorting to the GCPD. Certain parties are not exactly well enough to go traipsing through Gotham’s streets.”

“Yeah, alright,” he agrees. Oswald’s already torn his stitches once. He doesn’t need to make things  _ worse  _ for himself. “Make sure everyone’s on the same page and I’ll be back later, probably closer to dinner.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet is alive again! I considered posting an extra chapter, but then quickly realized I'm reaching the end of my prepared doc D: I'll do my best to not miss the upcoming Thursday update.

Jim’s day was only partially a waste of his time.

Obviously, no one found Ed or Oswald or Zsasz, and while Jim’s team downtown didn’t bring anyone in a few of the others were able to find some less active criminals (Jim thinks he saw Firefly in the mix but he’s not sure) and from what he can tell, no one was seriously injured. His partner’s pride took a bit of a hit because of their lack of success, but he’ll recover. Jim always did.

He walks into the foyer around dinner time, and is somehow simultaneously shocked and not surprised in the least to find Zsasz still there, still eating cereal, although the box is different.

“Switched to Trix?” Jim asks, innocently enough he thought, but Zsasz just stares at him and moves the box further from Jim’s proximity. “I’m not-” there’s a crash, and some screaming from the other room, and Jim pulls out his gun, silently demanding Zsasz stay where he’s at (although for some reason he’s not even reacting to the familiar sound of something breaking) and Jim begins peering into adjacent rooms and slowly making his way towards the sound. Around another corner he finds Alfred standing calmly, a file bag at his feet and a dustpan and broom in his hands.

“Alfred what’s going on?” he whispers, peeking around the doorway over Alfred’s shoulder and catching a glimpse of a book as it flies across the room in the parlor.

“It seems Missers Nygma and Cobblepot are having a bit of a disagreement. I would appreciate it if,” he winces when another glass object shatters in the next room, “if you could get them to reach a ceasefire agreement before anything too irreplaceable gets caught in the fray.”

Jim nods and rounds the corner after holstering his gun, and clumsily catches a vase as it flies at his head. “Hey!” he shouts, Nygma turns and another book hits him in the shoulder, “hold your fire!”

“Detective,” Nygma straightens and smoothes out his clothes, “I’m ready to go to the GCPD if you are.”

“And I am as well,” Oswald states. “We should probably get going soon.”

“We already discussed this,” Nygma’s angrily saying as he stalks over to Oswald. “You’re not coming with us!”

“Oh yes I am!”

“You’ll only delay procedures in your condition!”

“I’ll  _ delay procedures _ ?”

“Enough!” Jim shouts. He’s had about enough of this ten times over.

“We’re busy!” Nygma shouts back.

“Jim walks over and forcibly separates them. “Go get ready to leave.” He drags Nygma along with him, leaving Oswald standing alone, fuming, “I’ll talk to him.”

“He’s in no condition-”

“ _ I’ll talk to him _ ,” he says, gesturing for Nygma to clear the room. He leaves without another word nodding to Jim as he walks through the doorway. Jim turns around and takes in OSwald’s face, the way his features contort into an enraged sneer; he knows he’s about to not get his way on this. “Look-”

“You can’t just remove me from the team without my consent James. I’m a valuable asset.”

“Let’s sit down a minute,” he chooses a chair perpendicular to the couch, “come on.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” he says, and it’s true. Oswald’s sickly pale and clammy looking, probably in pain (and maybe he tore another stitch), “sit.”

He does so, begrudgingly, and without taking his glare off Jim’s face. Jim notices the wince as he moves his injured leg. Ed’s right, there’s no way he’s going to get back to his old level of functionality at the rate he’s going.

“Everyone keeps going for that leg.” Jim finds himself regretting that the moment he’s said it out loud, it’s insensitive and he sounded like he was making fun of Oswald, but he doesn’t get a chance to take it back before Oswald is angrily replying.

“Everyone knows it’s my Achilles heel Detective, and everyone exploits that fact, yourself included.”

“I’m not exploiting your leg.”

“You are! Why exactly do you think I can’t go along with you to the GCPD?”

“Your leg-” he catches himself with a huff, “you’re injured, Oswald. You need to rest.”

“My  _ leg  _ is injured. The rest of me is  _ fine _ . Don’t imply that I don’t know how to take care of myself Detective. It’s insulting.”

“I know you can take care of yourself.” If he couldn’t, he’d be dead already. Jim knows that, maybe better than most. “But the rest of you isn’t  _ fine _ . You’re anemic. You lost a fair amount of blood, and you tore your stitches. And if it had been any closer to the artery you could have died.”

“I’ve had plenty of near death experiences Detective Gordon. Surely you know that as well. I’ve never let it stop me before.” He says, smug, as if he’s gotten the upper hand.

He can’t let Oswald think he’s getting somewhere with this. “You can’t rely on the bat if you can’t swing, and you don’t have another weapon.”

“James,” Oswald shakes his head, “we’re going to the GCPD. I can’t imagine there aren’t  _ any  _ weapons there that I’d be more than capable of using. Or if you’re so concerned we can bring Zsasz along.”

“I’m not giving you a gun, and we’re not bringing Zsasz. This is already incredibly risky. Ed and I need to make this as fast a trip as possible,” he sees Oswald suck in a breath, steeling himself for the next blow, and Jim already hates himself for what he’s about to say, “and you’re not at 100%. You won’t be able to keep up.”

“I’ll never  _ be  _ at 100% Detective. I have an ache, stiffness, I  _ use a cane  _ for fuck’s sake. I was  _ impaled on rebar,  _ and let’s not forget that  _ someone  _ made me fall down some stairs a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry.” He’s not surprised he means it, which is surprising on its own. “And I mean  _ your  _ 100% alright? If you were at your 100%, if you didn’t need a  _ transfusion  _ yesterday, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We’d already be out the door.” He watches Oswald go from righteous anger to a resigned fury. “You can’t come with us this time. Ed would spend the entire trip fussing over you, and the entire police force is convinced you’re going to use Zsasz to take down the city. It’s not safe. I’m sorry, Oswald. I wish things were different.”

His anger comes back tenfold, “don’t pretend to pity me James.” He opens his mouth to protest, but Oswald holds up a hand. “Alright, for now, you pity me. It’s probably even genuine. Poor, poor little Oswald, so broken and weak, look how he can barely stand up. While I’m like this, weakened and in pain, you’ll pity me, because we’re working together to save Bruce and right now I’m a downed ally, but,” he leans forward, “when you see me murder someone, or steal, or send my men after another gang, you’ll twist this, because it doesn’t fit into your little internal narrative you have for me. I know deep down you think I’m a monster James, and I know you’ll rewrite this when I look like a monster again. Maybe you’ll say this was all some elaborate act to manipulate you into giving me your sympathy, I don’t really care what you turn this into in your head. But there’s a reason people like me thrive in this city. I know what I’ve done, and what I’ve done is survive. The city is sick and twisted, and everyone in it is either just as sick, or they're not going to last long. You’re just as sick as the rest of us Gordon, you just don’t know how to admit it to yourself.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster.” He used to, but not now, not after everything he’s seen. “I think you need some help, Oswald, but you’re not a monster, because you wouldn’t be risking your life to help find Bruce if you were. And you wouldn’t care about Ed the way you do. You’re both a lot more than just the personas you want the city to see.”

“You can tell yourself that as much as you like Detective.” He’s still angry, but Jim thinks he sees a bit of discomfort under all that anger. “I can guarantee that the moment this case is finished Ed and I will be back to our lives, and you’ll be back to demanding we be brought into Arkham Asylum where we belong, so let’s stop pretending that we’re going to start being good friends once this is all said and done.”

Jim stands up, a bit unwillingly, but he really doesn’t have all night to try and make Oswald feel better. “Ed and I need to get going.”

“Don’t look so concerned, James. I’m not going to try and stow away in the trunk of the car.”

“So you’ll stay here?”

“Not because of anything you’ve said, I can assure you.” Oswald crosses his arms. “But he’s,” Oswald trails off, looking to the lit fireplace, “he’s tactless, but,” Oswald refuses to finish.

“Shouldn’t you part on better terms? We don’t exactly know who we’re dealing with, but there’s no way Ivy didn’t tell him about our little talk. If he predicts our next move-”

“Go to hell, Gordon.” Oswald refuses to look up at him, so Jim sighs, and walks towards the doorway of the room. “Detective,” he calls out, and Jim stops and looks back, “if anything happens and I think that myself or Zsasz could’ve stopped it from happening,” Oswald looks up at him, eyes full of fire, “you’ll regret it.”

Jim nods, because he doesn’t know what else to say but he believes Oswald will absolutely  _ destroy  _ him if he doesn’t bring Ed back safely. As he’s leaving the room he pauses by Alfred. “If you can, try to get him a full transfusion. I don’t know how you usually do that sort of thing.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Alfred adds, “if it’s any consolation Detective, you’ve done the right thing insisting he stay.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean much Alfred.” He looks back at Oswald, who’s taken to brooding while facing the fireplace. “He’s trying to do  _ good _ .”

“You’d say the same if it was one of your colleagues at the GCPD attempting to work while seriously injured. He’s not fit for this kind of work while he’s in this condition, but I suspect he’s only protesting because you’re separating them again, even if it’s only for a short time.”

“I’m not going to take Ed to Arkham if that’s what he’s so worried about. This is just a quick in and out procedure so Ed can use the GCPD database. We’ll be back in no time.”

-

Nygma is quiet, pensive even, and Jim can feel the tension in the car nearly suffocating him. He clears his throat and attempts to get rid of the uncomfortable silence, “listen-”

“Detective, if you’re about to tell me I shouldn’t leave on a potentially dangerous task before apologizing or clearing the air, save it for someone else. Oswald and I fight, and yes, it often escalates to the property damaging kind, but one fight won’t change any feelings we harbor for one another.” Jim opens his mouth, but Nygma continues. “And I understand that this kind of fighting is not considered “healthy”” he actually does the air quotes, “and that our relationship is, by extension, “unhealthy”,” again, air quotes, “but we’re not exactly “relationship material” for anyone Gotham considers normal.” He turns towards Jim, straining against his seatbelt, excited, “then why bother, you ask? Detective, we’re still human, we have needs and desires, and we get that from one another. Not many people can accept what we’ve done. There are no secrets, no crossing a line, for either of us. And admittedly, there are certainly genuine feelings of affection. Love, even, in our own way.”

“You’re both depraved, but you’re depraved together.”

“Precisely.”

“This week,” Jim sighs, “this is the most human I’ve seen either of you in years. I didn’t think this before, but I feel like out of anyone, you could really benefit from professional help.”

Ed is quiet for a couple blocks, thinking, maybe, about what Jim said. When he talks, he’s calm, but there’s a danger in his tone, a fight or flight response at the ready, “do you know what Gotham thinks about people like us, Detective?”

“That you need help.”

“That we should disappear. The professional help in this city doesn’t want to  _ help _ nor are they all that professional. Do you know what kind of help Oswald received in Arkham Detective? They tortured him.”

“They gave him therapy.”

“They  _ tortured  _ him, Detective. Actual, mind-altering torture. I think you’ll remember our little session at the Asylum, right Detective?” Jim huffs, and nods. He’d rather not remember that day when he’s supposed to keep Ed safe. “They used that very technique to “cure” him of his illness.”

Jim stares straight ahead, but he barely registers the road aside from the gentle curve of the byway. He remembers the chair, the room, Ed. And earlier, far earlier, the crude electrode burns on patients’ temples. The Electrocutioner (and consequently Ed’s exclaim of amusement at the pun) and his gruesome methods. He feels vaguely sick to his stomach.

“That can’t be true.”

“I can see this is obviously a shock for you, but I can’t imagine how you’d think there’s much for me to gain by embellishing the truth.”

How many times did he insist they be returned to Arkham Asylum because it’s for their own good? How many times did being there make them both worse? How desperate was Oswald to get Jim to understand what he was going through in Arkham? He rubs his mouth in the hope of quelling his nausea.

“It’s not still like that right?” he asks, and Nygma shrugs, “Ed-”

“The building has better heating. The staff,” he pauses, “the staff all fear becoming the next Harley, so they remain distant and rather unapproachable.”

“Even the therapists?”

“I didn’t specify against them for a reason, Detective.” He’s looking out the window now, and won’t face Jim as he adds, “it’s too late, in any case. You can imagine there’s a reluctance to trust those that claim to want to help given our histories. I’ve come to understand that’s an important step in successful therapeutic methods.”

“So you’ve given up? That’s it?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Jim pulls into a spot in the GCPD parking lot and shuts off the car. “I can’t imagine the level of delusion required to think either of us has any chance of changing now.” He looks at Nygma, feeling an overwhelming sympathy towards him, his life, the events that must’ve pushed him past his fabled point of no return. “Pity isn’t a very good look for you Detective. I wouldn’t let myself feel sympathetic for us if I were you. It’s a recipe for disappointment.”

Jim has to wonder how much of that is because they’re both actively  _ trying  _ to make Jim stop looking at them like they’re becoming these good, wholesome people. It’s not the case, he knows they’re not suddenly on the side of good, but that doesn’t mean he can’t  _ want  _ that to be the case. But Ed’s right, he’s setting himself up for disappointment. He’s setting the bar too high, and the more they keep helping each other the higher his hopes get, and it’s not good, but he can’t help himself.

“You and Oswald are back to business after all this.”

“Business as usual.” Ed nods. He’s avoiding Jim’s stare, but he’s not getting out of the car. “Try not to get too beat up about it Detective. We’re not the people we once were, although I’m sure you’d prefer if that were true.”

Unfortunately, he’s well aware of this already, has been since he had to help a completely shellshocked Ed get out of the car after Oswald was hurt. They both looked much younger, more like their old selves, back when there was still something substantial to selvage in either of them.

“Then why are you solving cases?” He opens the door now that most of the heat from the car is gone, and Ed does the same. “Why help put people away? It’s not exactly your MO.”

“Maybe it’s a change of pace, Jim. Did you know we left Gotham once?” Ed smiles, a faraway look on his face, “Oswald and I, we moved all our liquid funds into a secret account, and we just left. We were gone an entire month.” Then his face drops, unamused, maybe even a little resentful, “we learned something on that trip, Detective. I’m a mind that is broken, fractured or bruised. My actions and reasons might seem confused.” He’s starting to get a little agitated. “The people all criticize and call me a loon!”

“Ed,” he quiets him, and motions for them to move towards the back door. “Come on, don’t make a scene.”

“What’s the answer, Detective? Unless it’s too difficult for you to decipher.”

“Crazy, but Ed-”

“I know what I  _ am  _ Detective.” He snaps. “I know who I am and what I’ve done. I know I  _ like  _ doing those things, or I used to,” Jim opens his mouth but Ed keeps talking, “but out there, people like Oswald and me can’t survive. We’ve tailored Gotham, changed what’s normal to allow us to continue living our lives, but we can’t  _ leave _ , not if we don’t want to be locked away for the rest of our lives.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Ed glares at him. “I just mean, if being somewhere that can actually help would, well, help, then isn’t that a good thing? You could get  _ better _ , Ed.”

“There is no better for us.”

“You’re trying to help find Bruce. That already seems better to me. What made you this pessimistic about yourself?”

“Don’t try to understand me Gordon. You’re not a therapist.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he says as he used his key to unlock the backdoor and lets them both inside. He glances into the main room, and he’s thankful to find it empty. “But I don’t have to be to see that something made you lose faith in yourself, and I’m curious. Where did it all begin?”

“My father abused me.” Jim stops the second he hears this, and watches Ed as he barrels through what is, quite possibly, the most he’s ever truly revealed about his past, at least to Jim. “He said I was a moron, and anything I did that was smart, I’d clearly cheated, because no idiot like me could figure out complex puzzles.” He stares Jim in the eye, daring him to do something. To judge him, maybe, or say he deserved to be beaten.

Jim stands there, stunned, and watches Nygma as he takes in the main room of the GCPD office. He’s realizing he never really knew Ed at all. “I’m sorry Ed, I didn’t know.”

“Obviously because I didn’t  _ tell  _ you Detective. And don’t be. He was right after all.”

“You’re a smart guy Ed-”

He whirls around, angrily stalking towards Jim and yelling, “Yes but I cheated! I broke into her desk, and studied the puzzle. I practiced until I knew I could solve it the fastest, and I won because of it.”

Jim searches his face, the angry twitch, and something else, something uncomfortable. “How old were you?”

Ed’s mouth moves, quivering, and he looks away. “Seven, I believe.”

“Jesus,” Jim rubs his face, “Ed, you do know,” he takes a breath, “you have to know you didn’t deserve that. No one does, not even you.”

“We should move quickly or Oswald will have an aneurism if we’re gone too long.” Deflection, that’s fine. He sits at Jim’s computer and unlocks it. “Okay?”

He puts his hand on Ed’s shoulder, and ignores the flinch, because he relaxes almost immediately after the initial shock. He might even be leaning into Jim’s hand a little. “You wouldn’t have told me about that if you didn’t believe me at least a little bit.”

“Your passwords haven’t changed, I’m assuming.”

So he’s not going to say anything more. That’s fine. He’s not denying anything Jim said eithe- “you know my passwords?”

“You’re rather predictable, but don’t worry, most people are,” he says as he accesses the database and begins opening files. “But you should really change your passwords. Ten years is a bit long to keep the same ones unless you have zero regard for security protocols.”

“You shouldn’t be using my computer!”

“A minor detail.” He opens up a text document and begins moving the windows around on his screen.

“Look, God forbid this ever comes up, but if you really need to get in here just tell me. I’ll let you in,  _ when I’m here _ ,” he emphasizes.

“Detective you’ll take all the fun out of aiding the police.”

“I’d hate to do that,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

He steps back for a moment, because chatting with Ed while he works feels just like old times, or maybe like how things could have been. Maybe Ed would be a detective, independent of course, but he could be solving puzzles for a living. He’s good at this too, fingers flying over the keyboard as file after file pops up on the screen.

“Do you need any of the physical files from records while you’re here?”

“Possibly. It’s quite a disaster in there. It took me an hour to find the missing person’s files the first time.”

“Yeah well our last decent records keeper was Kristen Kringle.” Ed stiffens, and Jim stops himself from saying anything more about her. “Ed-”

“You shut up about her,” Ed whirls around, glaring. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and see if any new reports match our profile.”

He didn’t expect that to still be a touchy subject, but Jim isn’t exactly sorry he brought her up, not fully, because it’s not healthy for him to just throw that whole part of his life aside and forget. Jim looks back as he walks up the stairs towards records, and notes the stiff way Ed’s carrying himself after Jim mentioned Miss Kringle, and Jim accepts the feeling of regret and sympathy he feels, but also acknowledges that it’s mostly regret for the past. But no matter how much he wants to go back to simpler times, working with Ed and Bullock, he knows he’s about sixteen years too late, maybe more.

Jim feels like he should have recognized something in Ed to give him some sort of sign that he had such a hard childhood, although Jim hasn’t had very much experience with child abuse victims, or the people those victims grow up into.

_ Except Nygma,  _ he thinks, and he really hopes he’s an outlier.

Ed is right though, the records room is a mess these days. There’s always a file box on the desk, overflowing with files, labelled “to sort” which baffles Jim to no end because isn’t that half the job? Miss Kringle never had files overflowing anywhere. Still, it makes searching for recent cases easier, but Jim gets through the box without finding any suspicious cases.

He’s on his way to the record’s room door when he hears a shout and a thump from the main room. Jim pulls out his gun and releases the safety before slowly easing the door open and peeking down into the main room, nervous another officer has shown up and attempted to apprehend Ed. Some of the overhead lighting is broken, bits of glass crunching under Jim’s feet as he descends the stairs, the lack of light casting eerie shadows over the floor. The main hall is still empty, silent, not even Nygma and his typing- Nygma.

“Ed?” he calls out into the empty room. “Ed?”

The glow from his computer screen lights up the far end of the room. Jim crosses cautiously, and finds Ed lying on the floor, a small trickle of blood on his forehead.

“Ed,” he shakes his shoulder, “Ed come on.” He’ll never set foot in the Manor again if Ed doesn’t wake up. “Ed!” Ed’s face scrunches and he groans. “What happened Ed? Talk to me.”

“Bruce,” he says, and tries to push himself up off the floor.

“Bruce? Ed what are you-”

Someone drops to the floor beside them and Jim turns, gun in hand at the ready, just in time to see the Batman, Bruce, as his foot comes at his face. The last thing Jim hears before he blacks out is a scream of pain from Ed, then, silence.


	16. Chapter 16

He comes to, this time on the floor beside his desk. It’s still dark out, and the GCPD Headquarters is silent. Jim struggles to his feet, feeling his head for any injury, and thankfully finding no blood. There is a lump on the back of his head, and his jaw aches a little, but he could’ve gotten a lot worse. Bruce is not a featherweight.

Bruce. Jim starts scanning around his desk for evidence, clues, something to tell him how Bruce attacked them, or how he knew they were there at all. There’s a small amount of blood by his desk, probably from Ed’s head wound.

“Ed,” he scrambles up and scans the main floor, but Ed and Bruce are both gone. “Shit.”

He finishes surveying the scene, noting the size of the blood pool (small), the mild disarray on his desk, and his now damaged computer screen.

“Shit,” he swears under his breath as he checks the tower and finds it untouched. Jim quickly unplugs his screen and plugs in one of the nearby ones, hoping there will be some sort of clue. He breathes a sigh of relief when the files Ed had been reading are still open, along with his text file. Nygma’s notes, while Jim is thankful they still exist, are riddled with, well, riddles. And wordplay, granted, but he’s been relatively tame recently, reserving his riddles for the rare lulls in the case. Jim wonders whether or not the riddles are a kind of coping mechanism for him, and if it is, Jim can tell he wasn’t doing well. He feels regret for bringing up Kristen again, this time because it not only messed with Ed, but also their potential to find Bruce.

He needs to get help from Alfred and Oswald.

Shit, Oswald.  _ If anything happens you’ll regret it _ .

Jim needs to handle this delicately if he doesn’t want Oswald to hurt anyone, himself included. Three days ago he could have bled out on Selina’s kitchen table. He’s in no condition to start throwing a nuclear sized tantrum.

Jim pulls out his phone and calls Alfred. While it rings he begins printing all the files Ed had opened, along with his text document of notes, which despite the short amount of time are already a few pages long. “Alfred? Please don’t be Zsasz.”

“It is in fact not Mr. Zsasz, Detective.” Alfred replies. “Did you need something from me?”

“We have a problem. Where’s Oswald?”

“Mr. Cobblepot is anxiously awaiting your return in the foyer, although I insisted he refrain from pacing while he waits. We’re trying to keep him well hydrated.”

“We?”

“I was able to procure a blood bag matching his blood type, and he is currently undergoing the transfusion. I summoned Miss Kyle because he’d been fussing again, and upon inspection it was discovered that he’d nearly torn his stitches a second time. She recleaned the wound and got him started on his treatment, which appears to be working quite well. I would have done it myself, but he has notoriously difficult veins.”

“Matches the rest of him,” he mumbles to himself. “We’re going to need him in good shape fast. Ed’s been taken, and I’m on my way to the Manor. And when I get there Oswald’s going to kill me.”

“If I may ask, Detective, if he’s planning on killing you why on Earth are you coming back here?”

“I need him to help figure out Ed’s notes. They’re a mess.”

“I’ll expect you shortly, Detective. Do drive carefully, as the wind has picked up considerably since you left.”

“Will do.” He runs over to the printer and stacks all of his papers before shoving them into an empty folder. He shuts down his computer and leaves the GCPD, driving slow due to the wind and snow whipping around outside.

Jim knows he needs to tell Alfred about Bruce, but he wants to do it in person, and to try to understand why he attacked them and where he’s been.

Something that’s bothering him the most; why did Bruce leave Jim and the actual notes intact? Why not take the both of them?

He hopes it’s part of Bruce rebelling, that he can see that they’re trying to help and he’s allowing Jim to go to his team and rescue Ed and Bruce before he’s made to do anything else.

He worries that it’s because they’re all useless without Ed there to see the connections.

How did Bruce even know they were there? The simple answer is that he’s been following them, possibly since they were at Ivy’s. Jim doesn’t bother overcomplicating that theory.

Who is Bruce being controlled by? How? What can any of them do to reverse it?

Is Ed going to be alright, or should Jim leave town?

He doesn’t come up with any more theories on his way to the Manor, having to dedicate too much focus on not driving the car off the road. He grabs the folder with Ed’s research and shuts off the car before running up to the front door. Jim lifts his hand to knock, but the door flies open and Oswald’s there, glaring at him, one hand on the door handle and the other tugging at his IV stand.

“Oswald,” Jim greets. He sees Oswald’s grip on the stand tighten. Bludgeoned to death with an IV stand, what a way to go.

“Where is he.” It’s not a question; it’s more like an accusation.  _ Why didn’t you bring him back? _

“Oswald, we have a lot to figure out,” Jim takes ahold of Oswald’s stand and starts leading them both away from the door, “please, I know you’re upset with me, but help me figure this out so we can find him.”

“Don’t try to drag me around Jim!” He comes  _ very  _ close to swinging at Jim, but he’s leaning a lot of weight on the stand. “I  _ told  _ you. I explicitly told you, that if you did not bring him back here safely there would be consequences. I don’t think you understand the severity of this situation, so let me tell you-”

“Bruce took him,” he says, trying to disarm Oswald enough that he has a means to back away safely, but a look over his shoulder at whoever Oswald is staring at makes Jim’s stomach drop through the floor, “Alfred.”

“Master Bruce took him?” he asks, derailed and shaking his head sadly when Jim nods.

“Alfred, I wanted to tell you in person. I’m sorry.” Jim clears his throat. “He must have been tailing us when we went to the GCPD. He’s alive, but he’s under someone’s control.”

A hand grabs the collar of Jim’s shirt and he’s dragged back face to face with Oswald, “then, Jim, do tell me why you’re here, safe and sound, while Ed’s whereabouts are unknown? That hardly seems fair to me,  _ friend _ .”

“I don’t know.” He can’t break free from Oswald’s grip without sending him to the ground. The transfusion appears to be working at least, based on the healthy flush on his cheeks. “Oswald, please, I know you want to throw me off the roof right now, but we have to figure out his notes. It’s the only way to figure out who has them.”

“Fine,” Oswald lets go with a shove and starts stiffly making his way to the kitchen. Jim and Alfred follow, and they find Selina working on Zsasz’s side wound at the table.

Alfred scoffs, “Miss Kyle I told you to do that in a bathroom.”

“Yeah, I’m not putting myself in a tiny enclosed room with this guy,” she says as she finishes cleaning up the wound. “You asked me to clean up his leg  _ again _ , not this guy’s side.”

“And your help is appreciated,” Alfred assures her, “Miss Kyle, if you could stay awhile longer we have a more pressing matter than a few wounds needing cleaned.”

“What’s up?” She tosses a handful of used gauze into a nearby trash bin and sits at the table. “Don’t tell me, you guys got someone  _ else  _ stuck on a fence? Or maybe this idiot tore his stitches a  _ third  _ time-”

“Selina,” Jim interrupts, “Bruce is being mind controlled, and he’s taken Ed somewhere, and we have no idea who is doing this or why.”

She sits forward. “I’m listening.”

Jim sits down and begins to explain, “Ed and I were attacked at the GCPD. Bruce left me and Ed’s notes intact, which makes me think that whoever’s got him under their control hasn’t perfected it yet. He’s left us with a lead, and we need to figure out what it means.”

“Does that mean he  _ isn’t  _ intact Detective?” Oswald would’ve probably thrown a knife at Jim if there was one in reach. “Are you just lying to me so I don’t have Zsasz take you out here and now?” Zsasz stands up straighter beside Oswald, sizing Jim up and cracking his knuckles.

“No, Jesus, he was,” Jim sighs, “he was  _ hurt _ , but I don’t know how badly. There was a little blood,” he holds up a hand, “a  _ little _ , because he hit his head on the desk. And Bruce took me down before he took Ed, so I don’t actually know how he is, alright?”

Oswald slowly drags a chair out from the table, letting it scrape and clack against the floor loudly, and then he slowly lowers himself into it, staring down at the table and grinding his teeth. Zsasz approaches, but Oswald holds out a hand to keep him at arm’s length. He takes a few breaths, then he slowly turns towards Jim. “James,” he smiles, but there’s no humor, no light, just a wide, manic look in his eyes and a level of determination Jim isn’t sure he’s ever seen before, “we’re going to figure out where he is, and when we do, you’re going to get me a gun, because if you don’t find me one,  _ I  _ will find me one, and you’re not going to approve of the firearm I choose to bring with me to destroy whoever’s done this.”

“Okay,” Jim agrees immediately. Not because he’s worried about what Oswald would bring, but because he knows that if he tried to keep him from going with them he would find a way to go anyway, and likely end up getting himself killed. “I’ll get you a primary, but you can choose a secondary, as long as you can carry it.” He won’t condone him bringing a tank or something else equally ridiculous just to save Ed.

Oswald’s eyes mist over a bit and he mouths ‘thank you’ to Jim. “Zsasz is my secondary.”

“I use pistols James Gordon,” Zsasz reminds him.

“You need an actual secondary, not just Zsasz.” Jim finds himself agreeing by omission, already mentally writing out some stipulations for Zsasz’s involvement in this operation.

“You’re going to need someone that can actually fight against Bruce,” Selina says.

“Does that mean you’re going to join us?” Jim was a little worried he would have trouble convincing her to help.

“I taught bat boy everything he knows about street fighting. You  _ need  _ me.” Selina says this with a smug smile on her face. Jim just silently accepts that he’s never  _ not  _ going to owe Selina his life for her help during this case.

“Good, alright,” Jim drops the file in front of Oswald, “then it’s settled. You figure out what the hell he’s talking about in his notes, and then we’ll work out the finer details.”

Oswald just stares at him, a confused, somewhat skeptical look on his face. He flips open the folder and takes one look at the page before looking back at Jim with a ‘are you fucking serious’ expression on his face.

“What the hell is your problem? Figure out his riddles and we’ll go get Bruce and Ed.”

“James, I’m terribly flattered,” Oswald slides the case file over in front of Jim, “but you’re making a lot of incorrect assumptions, thinking I will have  _ any  _ idea about whatever he’s written in these notes. They’re a  _ mess _ .”

“What?” Jim starts flipping through the text document print out. “So, you have  _ no  _ idea what he’s written?”

“I’m sure he meant well when he wrote these,” Oswald smiles in a fond manner, “but half of these notes are riddles, James,” he explains condescendingly, “and do you know what I’m not a fan of? Riddles.”

“But-”

“ _ Ed  _ loves them, sure,” Oswald shakes his head as he gives the papers another look, “but there’s a big difference between understanding his little hobbies and actively participating in them.”

“You help him solve cases!” Jim looks at the rest of the table, and he’s apparently the only one really surprised by this news. “You  _ do  _ help him, right?”

“Detective, we have our fun breaking into the GCPD, and I do enjoy a few ah,” Oswald chuckles, “we’ll call them perks, when he’s in a good mood after finding a new case, but I’m what you would call a financer. He’s the one doing the real legwork. I just pay the bills.”

“So, what? We’re screwed?” Jim scatters the papers across the table. “Our only lead is buried in a bunch of wordplay and riddles. If we don’t solve them then that’s it, no lead, no location, no rescue.”

Oswald frowns at Jim and drags some of the papers closer, giving them a more thorough look. “What happened while you were at the GCPD?”

“What?” Jim can feel a headache starting to throb, but that may be from the hit he took. “I already told you what happened.”

“I mean  _ before _ , Detective. These are,” Oswald shakes his head and slides the first page over and taps on the top of the page, where things made the most sense. Ed’s notes begin with a concise, but informative paragraph about what he hopes to find. “This is the only part that makes any sense. Then it’s a few cryptic sentences about mind control, I’m assuming, and another about, dreams? I’m not entirely sure what he’s going for, and he only got  _ worse  _ from here. What. Happened.”

Jim rubs his eyes, “he told me about his dad.”

Oswald gapes, flabbergasted. “He, he did  _ what  _ now? Ed,” he laughs, completely bewildered, “he told you about that despicable excuse for a man? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jim admits.

“Well, good job choosing an intel mission to get all cosy and open with each other, because traipsing down memory lane is why his notes are incomprehensible.” Oswald keeps trying to read the notes, but he keeps huffing and giving up shortly after he starts. “Alfred, please, tell me you’ve discovered all of his secrets and know exactly what he’s talking about in these.”

“I’m afraid I won’t have much more luck than you’re having already,” Alfred pulls the files closer and begins reading. “My word. Mr. Cobblepot these are hardly riddles.”

“I may be using the term loosely,” he agrees.

“He used the word curious about five times on this page, all capitalized,” Jim mutters. Oswald looks at him, then tears the paper out of his hands and starts reading. “What?”

“Weird. And then here, the word odd is capitalized.” He points it out to Jim. “And here.”

“Got uncanny over here,” Selina slides the paper back over to Oswald and Jim. “Think our boy’s on to something.”

“Yeah,” Jim digs out a pen and writes all of the capitalized words onto one piece of paper, “odd, curious, uncanny, bizarre, unusual-”

“Strange,” Zsasz says. Jim looks over Oswald at Zsasz.

“Where’d you see that?” Jim asks. He starts rereading the pages of notes.

“I didn’t.”

“Well then why-” Jim stops himself, and swears. “Strange. Oswald, what other things has he done to leave clues?”

“Riddles, wordplay,” he taps his chin, “sometimes the first word of each sentence is another word. He tried to get me to show up to a restaurant with that clue. I just called all the five star places in Gotham until I found one with a reservation for E. Nygma.”

“Okay,” Jim looks at all the pages and starts writing out the first letter of each paragraph. Slowly, the words Gotham Times takes shape, followed by a month, Nov., and Tuesday. “Gotham Times, November, Tuesday.”

“Which Tuesday?” Oswald flips through the notes pages.

“Doesn’t say. Alfred, do you have copies of the newspapers?”

“This thing does,” Selina pulls out a piece of paper and slides it over. “November 10th, looks like.”

The headline is something about Thanksgiving, nothing terribly helpful, but Jim catches the small header in the bottom corner, something about a breakthrough treatment for mental illness, pioneered by Hugo Strange, doctor of- “We need that newspaper.”

“I’ll go fetch one straight away,” Alfred says as he gets up from the table.

“Thank you,” Jim flips through the other files Ed had opened. “Hugo Strange hasn’t been a prominent figure in Arkham for a few years now, but he’s definitely smart enough to pull this off.”

And Ed figured him out. Jim feels a strange sense of pride for Ed. The notes are obviously meant to be confusing. He likely wrote them out in a rush, filling spaces with nonsense sentences to make his actual riddles work. Plenty of people will take one look and assume it’s the random ravings of a madman, not the vital information needed to solve a case.

“We don’t have a physical copy,” Alfred says as he reenters the room, “but I’ve pulled up a digital copy on the tablet.”

Jim nods and accepts the tablet, and flicks the screen so it’s on the correct page. “Strange, current professor at Gotham U-shit. Of course.”

“Is there a problem Detective?” Oswald says, clenching one fist on the table. “Getting cold feet? Stay here for all I care. Zsasz and I can handle things.”

“No, you’re not going without me. He’s probably at the University, which means students, which means  _ civilians _ . Both of you, go get your supplies. Selina, if you’re still willing, get ready too. Then, we’re going to establish some ground rules before any of you start a riot at the University.”


	17. Chapter 17

“One, we are not going to attempt to apprehend Strange tonight. This case is far more complicated than we initially realized, and we’re not going to go into this overly ambitious. We get in, we get Bruce and Ed, and we get out.”

Oswald loads a semi-automatic rifle as Jim talks, muttering to himself about bullets being unnecessarily heavy. He has the pistol Jim gave him already holstered at his side and a single strapped bag full of ammo against his uninjured hip. He’s still moving stiffly, but the transfusion really bounced him back from the weak, shaky person he was only a few hours ago.

He’s still stiff, and slow, but Jim hopes his slight overkill on firepower, and having Zsasz with them, will counteract that.

“Two, we are going to the University. That means civilians will be out and about, and we’re not going to start firing in a crowded place just because you’re anxious to get Ed back. If someone isn’t shooting at you, you don’t shoot at them. Good compromise?”

“James, I’d like to extend that to weapons of the non-ballistic variety, because if someone tries to come at me with some sort of sword or taser or what have you, I will be shooting them in the face.” Oswald smiles, but there’s no humor or light, just a tight line and plenty of stress.

“Fine, alright, if someone attacks you, you can defend yourself. It’s what an officer would do in your situation.” Sort of. He’s not going to split hairs about the ethics of this mission. They’re trying to save lives. “But no planting weapons on people,” he looks to Zsasz, who’s currently cleaning up his pistols (brought over by a very helpful Gabe, along with some clean clothes), “understood? I want as few casualties as possible. Actually, if you can, avoid killing anyone even if they’re attacking.”

Zsasz holsters his pistols and stares Jim down, “are you going to ask them to do that too?”

“He has a point Detective. It’s not really fair for my associate here,” he pats Zsasz on the arm, “if you’re not going to ensure that both sides will avoid fatal shots.”

“Fine, whatever, just,” Jim groans, “just please,  _ please  _ avoid unnecessary confrontations and bloodshed.”

“Three, Selina, you’re the only one of us that can really stand up to Bruce without shooting him, so make sure all your focus is on him. We’ll watch your back.”

“Jim you’ve told me this at least three times. I know what you  _ want  _ me to do, okay? It’s not like this plan is foolproof. Things could change, and fast.”

She’s right. They know the likely location, and the culprit, but nothing about their actual base, who is working with strange, what kind of weapons or security they may have. They’re going in blind. Jim considers asking if there’s any way to get them some more manpower, but he knows it’ll be tricky enough already trying to get the four of them in and out undetected, which is her preferred method of extraction. No, they need to be ready to think on their feet, and change the plan as needed.

“I know this isn’t perfect by any means. And we don’t know what we’ll find at the University, if we even find Strange there at all, but we’re going to try.” He holsters his weapon. “Just remember to stick together, and watch each other’s backs. Alfred, Have you looked into any of the blueprints on campus?”

“I did, and I determined a very likely place for Professor Strange’s hideout of sorts, one very close to the main Psychology building. I’ve come to understand that between the chemistry and biology building there is an underground tunnel, commonly used for the transport of hazardous chemicals. Many of them are temperature sensitive. The Psychology and Chemistry buildings are beside one another, allowing him quick access if this is indeed the location of his so called lair.”

“We’ll start there then. You three get in the car. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Jim hesitates in the foyer, standing by Alfred as the rest of his little rag-tag team clamber into the car, this time Oswald claiming the front and Zsasz in back with Selina. She shoots Jim a look as she gets inside, but doesn’t say a word about her seat mate.

“Alfred, how screwed are we?”

“Detective, I think assuming you’re ‘screwed’ is your first mistake.”

“Are you telling me a positive outlook will save the day?”

“No, but I think going into a dangerous mission requires you at least have  _ some  _ hope that you’ll succeed.”

Jim nods. “I can’t argue with you about that.”

Alfred taps his shoulder, and when Jim turns he holds out a small device, sleek black plastic with a series of buttons on one end, with a set of small prongs on the other. “What is this?”

“It’s a tad more sophisticated than you’re used to, but it’s essentially a taser. While you were all preparing I took the liberty of rereading Mr. Nygma’s notes, and he thought it pertinent to mention electricity and shocking and the like several times on each page. I assume anything he deemed important enough to mention several times was worth heeding.”

“Thanks,” he says as he pockets the taser. “Just point and shoot?”

“It requires direct contact only, but changes the strength of the charge depending on the target. It’s not fatal, if that was a concern.”

“I just hope we don’t have to use any of these.” Jim can feel the weight of his secondary weapon digging into his ankle. “Ideally, we’re in and out without being noticed.”

“I’ll be in the lab, ready for your call, in case your optimism is a bit misplaced.”

“Thanks Alfred.” He shakes his hand. “We’re going to get him back.”

“I sincerely hope so, Detective.” He folds his hand against his side after they’ve stopped. “Forgive me if I don’t sound as optimistic as you.”

“Just trying to keep spirits high.” He turns towards the car and starts walking down the steps and over to the car.

In the car everyone is quiet except for the quiet shifting of metal weapons against seat belts and doors. Jim starts the car and cranks up the heaters, and before Zsasz even has to ask he turns on the radio.

“Don’t bother,” Oswald turns it off and gestures to Zsasz, and Jim sees the headphones settled over his ears. “Unless you have anything vital you need to tell him on the drive over I’d let him get in the mood. For some reason it helps with his flow, or whatever he wants to call it.”

“Selina?”

“I’ll stick to quiet and whatever noise pollution he’s sending my way.” She points to Zsasz and settles so she’s leaning against the window of the rear driver’s side door.

“Fine by me.” He puts the car into drive and starts heading towards the University.

It’s an uncomfortably quiet drive. Their plans are already hashed and rehashed a few times over before they even had all their weapons, and talking about it now will only complicate matters. This mission has to happen in stages, with the first stage obviously being find their location. Once they do that, they can reassess the plan as needed.

Jim doesn’t like not knowing the whole plan, but he knows they no longer have the time to waste, and if Strange is willing to send Bruce out on missions to follow people and collect Ed then they’re already on borrowed time. And he still has Ivy firmly situated under his control, and possibly others, although Jim has no proof of that other than a gut feeling.

No matter what they face, Jim just hopes that whatever’s been done to Bruce is reversible. The city needs Bruce as much as they need a competent and uncorrupt police force.

He also hopes Ed is alright, or at least only minorly injured. He’ll accept a somewhat more serious injury if the trade off is doing this without anything going wrong.

“He goes there on the anniversary of his girlfriend’s death.” Oswald says, apropos to absolutely nothing, since no one was talking, and Jim about has a mild heart attack when he speaks. “The apartment, if that wasn’t clear.”

“Who, Kristen?”

“Isabella,” he says, like her name is something sour he ate. “She,” he pauses, “Ed became  _ infatuated _ with her. There were some,” another pause, this one longer, “there were mixed feelings on my part, mostly regarding her general being and proximity to Ed, not to mention, she looked just like Kristen. Just to clarify things a bit.”

“How does that  _ clarify _ this exactly?” And why is he saying this at all?

“He  _ stood me up _ , on the night I was planning to tell him-” he puffs out his cheeks, irritated. He doesn’t finish the thought. “I, admittedly, became a bit jealous, and my feelings resulted in her somewhat untimely demise.”

“You  _ killed  _ her.”

“As it turns out, she was not, in fact, the pure innocent angel Ed assumed she was, sent by a higher power to give him another chance.” Oswald shakes his head. “But because I did not  _ know  _ that, and killed her for my own personal,” selfish, he probably means selfish, “reasons, he finds it difficult to be around me during that time of the year, but also wants to be reachable. The apartment was a compromise.”

“That’s good, though,” Jim says. “Compromising, I mean. Killing his girlfriend, not so much.”

“He would have done the same, had he found out about her sooner.” Oswald pouts then, crossing his arms on top of his semi-automatic and looking out the passenger window. “And he wouldn’t have been near as quick.”

“Why are you telling me this exactly?”

Oswald is quiet for a few minutes, and when he does speak again, he’s moved past his little confession. “I can’t imagine why he told you about his father.”

“Why’d you tell me about killing his girlfriend?”

Oswald stays quiet for a minute. When he answers, he’s whispering, “you can’t imagine how rare it is to have someone sound like they give a damn in this city, Jim.”

Oh.

“So, this, Isabelle-” Oswald snorts. “What?”

“Isabella, just, nothing. It’s nothing.”

“So, she was bad?”

“She was,” he takes a breath and lets it out slowly, “complicated. Talking about her leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I’d rather not think about his past exes when I’m not certain of his current state.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t bother.” He sticks his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out that same photo from the apartment. “He called me this last time. Claimed he couldn’t sleep.” This is quickly getting far more intimate and emotional than Jim was prepared to deal with. “Somewhere along the line it started feeling more like a tradition than anything else. After all, reunions are always sweet when you’ve been apart, no matter the reason.”

This is almost as uncomfortable as Ed crying on him.

“You know, calling something a tradition doesn’t automatically make it good.”

“I’m not really concerned about your opinion on the matter, James. I killed his girlfriend because she was trying to take him away from me, and nearly twenty years later he still can’t stand to be near me for the whole week he knew her.”

“Damn.” Jim feels kind of sorry for both of them. “He knew her a week?”

“That is  _ exactly  _ what I thought, but I’ve been told more than once that their short time together isn’t a good reason to think he should be over it.” He isn’t glaring like Jim expected; he just looks tired. “You can use this when you need to rewrite this little adventure we’ve had together. I won’t hold it against you if you decide to hold this against me. Ed already does for a small percentage of the year. It’s true, Oswald Cobblepot is a jealous bitch.”

Jim never  _ expected  _ to hear a sentence like that come out of Oswald’s mouth, and now that he has he’s really surprised that he didn’t burst out laughing. He won’t, because it’s one thing to laugh at Oswald when Ed is nagging him, but it’s another thing entirely to laugh at him while he’s (maybe) regretting something he did in the past. Regardless, Oswald is worried about Ed, and apparently that means that he’s going to start confiding in Jim.

He wonders if this is just one of the many things they could’ve handled better had they both gotten help while they were still young.

Or would they even be together? Wouldn’t Ed still be dating Kristen? Would Oswald’s mother still be alive?

Jim can’t imagine what Gotham would be like if Arkham wasn’t a shitshow.

He finds a parking space on a side street on the edge of the campus and parks the car. Everyone gets out of the car, Selina begins limbering up and Zsasz is carefully wrapping up his headphones, and Jim motions to Oswald to step back a moment. “You two, start scoping out the immediate area. We’ll catch up in a second.” He turns to Oswald. “Everyone gets jealous.”

He laughs, incredulous, “are you seriously trying to make me feel better about something that happened nearly twenty years ago?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? You’re the one that told me about you killing his girlfriend.” Oswald scowls up at him, mouth quivering angrily. “Oswald, I’m not going to twist any of this.”

“I already told you, James, that I don’t care what you do after this. Tell everyone I’m a manipulative monster. While you’re at it, why don’t you just get me arrested tonight and put me out of my misery. Save me the trouble of having to lie low for a few weeks.”

“I mean it, Oswald. We wouldn’t be here tonight without your and Ed’s help.”

“Why are you wasting time telling me this?” he asks, angry, or maybe he’s anxious.

“Because being a bad person doesn’t mean you can’t do good things, okay?” Oswald blinks at him, somewhat stunned. “What?”

Oswald straightens, coughs once to clear his throat, and brushes some nonexistent dust from his coat. “Well, it’s about time you listened to reason James.”

It’s not like he has much choice. Whatever this is, whatever these two have decided to do to change themselves for the better, he needs to encourage this if he wants it to continue. He actually  _ wants  _ this for the two of them. Ed’s an excellent investigator and Oswald, well, Oswald’s shrewd. He’s good with business, and if he continues to drop his weapons distributions and other less wholesome projects Gotham may actually be able to clean up its act.

Somehow these two are looking rather important if Jim wants to clean up the streets of Gotham. And when they backpedal, which they will because change doesn’t happen overnight, he wants them to trust him. He knows they’re capable of doing good; he’s seen how much they’re trying to help find Bruce. And maybe, begrudgingly, he’s accepted that in order to make this transition happen he needs to keep them out of Arkham.

“It’s not like I could just take your word for it Oswald.” He shrugs. “But I can’t change what I’ve seen this past week.” He unholsters his gun and gestures for Oswald to get moving. “Now come on, let’s go rescue Bruce and your stupid boyfriend and get the hell out of here.”

“I think I should be offended by that on his behalf.” Still, he smiles a little while switching off the safety for his gun. Oswald begins sweeping the area with Jim, semi-automatic at the ready and his labored, uneven steps as quiet as possible, which is surprisingly rather quiet. “I’m fairly certain I should say something terribly cliche like ‘only I can call him stupid’, or something else completely inane and saccharine.”

“That doesn’t really sound like your style.”

“Wanting something relating to Ed all for myself? That sounds  _ exactly  _ like my style James.”

“Fair enough.”

Jim can’t seem to shake a prickly feeling that they’re being watched despite the lack of any evidence. He gets the feeling, usually on the back of his neck, and he turns around, scanning the trees and buildings, but every time there’s no one there. It’s late enough that everyone is either in bed asleep, or possibly working on their finals. Jim’s fairly certain it’s finals week at Gotham University. Oswald’s somewhat easy smile is replaced by a grim determination, and Jim has the urge to reiterate his ‘no killing civilians’ rule, but he’s confident enough to hope Oswald will remember to look before he shoots.

Selina is no longer on the ground, not that this is surprising in any way, and Jim catches small glimpses of her as she flips and dives across closely placed buildings. Zsasz is still out front, guns out of his holsters and at his sides, seemingly comfortable and unprepared, but he’s fast. All Zsasz needs is a single moment before his attacker notices him and he can already have taken out.

“We’re actually married.” Jim stops in his tracks and  _ stares _ . Oswald shrugs. “Just so you know the whole picture.”

“No ring?” It’s the first thing he can think of, and again, Oswald shrugs.

“We have them, but wearing what amounts to a giant arrow pointing to someone else isn’t ideal when we’re working.” Oswald shifts his ammo bag higher up on his shoulder. “And there wasn’t any of our usual fanfare. Just myself, Ed, and Victor.”

“Victor?” Jim snorts and Oswald glares at him. “Sorry, just picturing him as a ring-bearer.”

“Well that’s rather amusing James because he  _ did  _ hold the rings, although I assume you mean with one of those tacky little satin pillows. He just kept them in a pocket and provided his services as our witness.”

“Thought you had to be an uninterested third party.”

“We already had to pay the officiate to keep silent. A few extra dollars to ignore the affiliation we have with Victor Zsasz, and any of his potential gain from our union, were more than worth the price. And afterwards, we brokered a deal to buy one of the riverside apartment buildings. It was a very productive day.”

Jim actually feels a little jealous that of all people, somehow these two have found someone that puts up with their baggage. “Surprised you didn’t hold some sort of parade for the event.”

Oswald gets a bit quiet for about half a block, fiddling with the safety of his gun and adjusting the scarf he wrapped around his neck before they left the Manor. “There was a time when it would’ve been my greatest pleasure to shove our marriage in Gotham’s face, but following a uh,  _ event  _ so to speak, I found myself wanting to do something for just  _ us _ .”

“Ah,” Jim nods. “Ed told me about your little trip outside Gotham.” Oswald gapes at him. “I assume that’s what you meant when you said an event.”

“Yes, well, it seems he was more willing to share with you than I realized.” Oswald shakes his head. “But you are correct James. That trip was the best and worst thing that I’ve ever done in my life.”

Jim doesn’t get a chance to ask why Oswald thinks that, because out of nowhere, right as Jim and Oswald round a corner of one of the commons buildings, Selina drops to the ground in front of them, landing in a low crouch and glaring at the both of them. Oswald squeaks, or maybe it was a shriek, Jim isn’t sure because he about fell over when she landed.

“Selina.” Jim takes a few breaths. “Needed something?”

“If you two old hens are done clucking back here we’re almost to the chemistry building.”

“Right,” Jim puts a hand on his weapon and focuses all his attention on the empty sidewalk. Zsasz is in the front, hands on his weapons, lifting his hands in the air. “Zsasz?” Then he sees him, this young, quivering student wearing what Jim assumes is the campus security uniform and he can feel his expression fall. “Damn it.”


	18. Chapter 18

He has to think fast. Okay, first, Zsasz deserves some sort of reward for going passive like he has. Second, the kid (and he’s definitely a student volunteer there’s no way he’s older than twenty) appears to be unarmed, and also very aware of who Victor Zsasz is, which means he probably recognizes Oswald and Selina (who has vanished again, concerning).

“C-c-campus security,” he gulps audibly. Jim can’t tell if he’s stuttering from fear or the temperature, but either way it definitely doesn’t help him sound intimidating. “Weap-p-p-”

“Listen kid-”

“James I’ll handle this,” Oswald tells him with a smile, which fills Jim with zero confidence except for the fact that he should  _ not  _ let him handle this. “Hello young man. I see you’re performing your rounds if I’m not mistaken. It’s admirable, seeing the youth of today-”

Jim touches Oswald on the shoulder and sends a ‘shut the fuck up please’ look his way before stepping in front and taking over. “What’s your name son?” The deer in the headlights look he gets in return is not a great sign. “Listen, I know this is going to be hard to believe, but no one in this group means any ill will for the students here.”

“Th-that’s the Penguin!” Jim tries to sigh quietly and just accept the helplessness rather than try to fight it. The kid starts fumbling with his pockets, probably to get a phone or a radio. “I need to call the police!”

Jim only has time to think “but I’m part of the police” for a moment before Selina drops back in from wherever she flipped off to and hits the kid once, on the back of the head, and he goes down fast. “Selina!”

“None of you were going to do anything.” She taps her toe against the kid’s shoulder and shrugs.

“I was told not to shoot unless he attacks first. You’re welcome.” Zsasz says as he stares at Jim, which might actually be a glare, but Jim can’t really be sure. Zsasz is too calm to actually look angry.

“Yeah, thanks I guess.” Now they just have to get the kid somewhere safe. “Can you pick him up?”

“Just leave him Jim he’ll be  _ fine _ .” Selina crouches over and rifles through the kid’s pockets a bit, dragging out his wallet, which Jim takes from her before she can take this poor kid’s money. “What?”

“Don’t steal from him right in front of me.” He places the wallet back in the kid’s coat pocket and straightens. “And he won’t be  _ fine _ . It’s freezing out here. Zsasz, please, just grab him and we’ll get going.”

“You heard the man,” Oswald taps the butt of his gun against Zsasz’s side, and he bends over to grab the kid in a fireman’s carry. “Now if we can move along I’d like to get myself out of this frigid weather as well.”

They hurry their way over to the Chemistry building to avoid running into another student or staff member. It’s locked, which isn’t terribly surprising, but Selina is already kneeling by the door and carefully picking the lock before Jim can even ask. While she gets them inside Jim calls Alfred on the communicator. “Alfred, I need a favor. Let someone in first response know that there’s an unconscious kid in the chem building on campus.”

“Certainly Detective. I’ll be sure to give you all plenty of time to disperse from the scene before making the call.”

“Thanks Alfred.” He turns back to the door when Selina stands up and opens it, the latch clicking softly as the door swings out. “We’re going to need directions from the lobby of the building while you’re at it.”

“The entrance to the tunnel is in the basement. Go down the left hallway from the entryway.” Jim points and the four of them begin walking. “According to these blueprints the door to the stairwell should be the first one after the ladies’ restroom.”

“Down here.” Jim opens the door and ushers everyone through. When he follows, he finds them all in a supply closet. “Alfred, I think you’re off by a door or two.”

“If you’ve opened the door I indicated you should be in a stairwell.”

Jim sighs and turns away from the three judgemental stares he’s getting from the rest of his team. “We’re standing in a supply closet.”

“Not that this isn’t a fun little bonding experience,” Selina says, “but this is exactly what I wanted to avoid back at the Manor.”

Right, Zsasz. Jim spares a glance, but he’s still looking okay. There’s a light spring in his step, even as he’s standing still, and his movements are fluid and loose, limber. And his stitches don’t appear to be bothering him.

“Detective, I believe someone has deviated from the original blueprints,” Alfred tells him. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to go across the building to another stairwell.”

“Great, alright,” he mutes the communicator for a moment to tell the others. “This way.”

“Are you  _ sure _ , James? Are you absolutely  _ positive  _ you didn’t just miscount?” Oswald grumbles as he pushes his way past Jim and back into the hallway. “Unbelievable, honestly. To think I hold you to a higher standard than most officers.”

“Careful, that almost sounds like a compliment.” He taps the communicator again. “Alfred we’re on the move again.”

“If it's any consolation Detective, I’ve found several articles suggesting the building has undergone more than one renovation in the past. They claim the changes were made to remove asbestos used during its original construction, but that doesn’t explain the absence of the staircase. I suspect you’ll find several oddities in the building’s structure.”

“Like stairs that should be there but aren’t. Strange might’ve had his hands in this.”

“My thoughts exactly Detective.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to save face a little there Jim.” Selina climbs over the railing of the ascending staircase and flips off, clearly just doing it because she  _ can _ . “Maybe you should let me lead the way.”

“Alfred, where should the stairs to be basement be?” He asks, ignoring Selina’s offer.

“The stairwell should be along the West wall of the building, across from what appears to be a side entrance.” Jim continues walking, and doesn’t bother directing the others because he’s not in the mood to be questioned when  _ he’s  _ not even the one giving directions. This time he’s the first one to open the door, and he sighs in relief when there are actual stairs down to a sublevel. “Once you reach the basement level follow the left wall until you find a chemical storage room. The entrance to the tunnel is inside that room.”

“Thanks Alfred. I’ll call you if we need anything else.” He turns off the communicator. “Alfred says the tunnel is in chemical storage.”

“Don’t try to pin this on Alfred, James. The man is a saint.” Oswald speeds up his pace all the same, cane clicking quietly as he storms down the hall in his usual uneven gait.

Chem storage is easy enough to find. There’s a sign screwed into the brick with large white block letters “Chemical Storage: Restricted Access” and the name of a professor to contact if anyone needs something from the room.

“Selina, chem storage is probably locked, oh.” She’s already kneeling by the door, humming along quietly as she works at the lock. “Alright. We don’t know what we’re going to find beyond this door.”

Zsasz silently points to the sign, and Jim sighs. “Do you need me to read it out loud?”

“I don’t think any of you are taking this seriously.” Except Oswald, who didn’t even smirk at Zsasz’s attempt at a joke. “It could be empty, or there could be guards, an alarm system. Strange is potentially using this space to keep both Bruce and Ed and maybe others captive, and we need to be ready for anything.”

Zsasz takes out his guns and undoes the safety on both, and Jim is about to say “I didn’t mean like that” but really, didn’t he? This is why Zsasz is here. It’s why Jim let Gabe into the Manor long enough to supply Zsasz with clothes and weapons. It’s why he didn’t put up any sort of fight when Oswald claimed Zsasz is his secondary weapon. He’s a capable shot, and right now he’s at his peak.

Selina eases the door open once the final tumbler is in place and slinks inside, still crouching low to the floor. An automatic light by the desk blinks on, probably due to a motion detector, and it illuminates enough of the front of the room to show that it’s empty, although there are plenty of shelves, with rows upon rows of dark brown glass bottles, for people to hide behind.

“Keep the lights off.” Jim whispers. The four of them move down the middle aisle, past what looks like rows upon rows of acids, and make their way towards the back of the store room. The only sounds are from their own footsteps. “See anything?”

“Acids, bases, a few inert salts.” Oswald runs his free hand over one of the glass bottles as they walk by. “No sign of any guards if that’s what you meant.”

“Looks clear.” Zsasz keeps pressing forward the fastest, possibly the most eager to end up in a firefight, and definitely the most reckless out of all of them. “I’m going to be real disappointed if nothing happens while we’re here.”

“Let’s not, here,” he points at a doorframe, barely visible in the shadows, and tries the lock. It’s unlocked, and Jim swings it open. He grabs a flashlight out of his pocket and illuminates the space. “This is the tunnel. Alfred,” he calls him on the communicator, keeping his eye on the long hallway ahead of them, “we’re in the tunnel.” There’s static, and a jumble of consonants. “Alfred? Crap.” He turns it back off. “No signal.”

“Looks like we’re on our own.” Selina moves into the space, hugging the wall as she moves, and gestures for the rest of them to follow. Jim keeps his flashlight pointed towards the center of the hallway, keeping as much of the space lit as he can. Oswald’s cane taps loudly against the stone floor, and he grumbles, irritated, and begins making his way down the hall without its aid.

The hall is just as empty as the chem storage was, and they meet no resistance as they continue down towards the biology building. “Jim, shine that light over here.”

He swings the flashlight towards Selina’s voice and has to blink a few times when he sees a very high tech, very out of place door in a small alcove along the South wall. It looks thick and heavy, similar to a bank vault, and to the immediate right of the door there is a number pad and a screen.

And the sight of it gives Jim an undeniable, unignorable sense of dread. It’s too perfect, too easy. The only speed bump they’ve hit so far was running into one kid on the campus security team, and he went down in one hit (sorry kid). There’s no guard, no alarms going off, nothing to suggest that this isn’t going to go exactly as they want it to, and that scares him more than anything else. It feels like the eye of a storm, the undeserved calm before everything goes to hell. He just hopes they can handle it when shit hits the fan.

And it’s right behind this locked door. It has to be. And even if it is a trap they have to at least  _ try _ .

“Well, now what James?” Oswald stalks over to him, resting his cane on the ground once he’s stopped moving. “I imagine picking a lock only works when there’s an actual lock to pick.”

“Just let me think, okay?” He could run back to the first floor of the chem building and call Alfred, but that doesn’t help them get in fast. Jim’s a little worried the door will have a camera pointing at them, and that whoever is on the other side is waiting patiently for them to try something stupid. “Okay look, we knew going into this mission that we might find road blocks, literally, and we’re just going to have to figure out a way inside without setting off any alarms.”

“Hold this,” Selina tells Zsasz as she hands him her bag, “and when I ask you for something you have to hand it to me alright? I fixed up your damn stitches and now it’s time to repay the favor.”

“Selina-”

“Just let me work my magic Jim. Honestly the three of you would’ve been lost without me. Now hand be a screwdriver Zsasz. And Jim, keep your light on this.”

He does, and she kneels by the keypad, popping it off the wall and examining the wires she finds behind it. Jim watches as she fiddles with the wires, requesting a wire cutters and some electrical tape.

“Be careful. We don’t want any alarms going off.”

“Jim I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen calm down.” She clips a single wire. “Hey big guy come be a third hand.” Zsasz sets her bag down and steps closer. “Do me a favor and hook that wire to this, and I’ll do step three.”

Jim is honestly a bit lost on the technical side of overriding a keypad, but Selina continues without hesitation, and after about ten minutes there’s a benign ping and the sound of dead bolts unlocking. “Not bad.”

“Don’t get overly emotional about it or anything.” She puts away her equipment and pulls out her whip and a few other weapons. “What’s our next move Detective?”

Jim shakes his head once, a bit at a loss if he’s being honest with himself. “We don’t know what we’re going to find when we open this door. It could be swarming with guards, or scientists, or hell, maybe there’s more victims than just Ed and Bruce here, but I think we can be confident that we’ll find the two of them behind this door. We need to stick together. And we need to move carefully. Selina, your focus is Bruce. Strange has already sent him to go after us once, and you’re the only one that stands a chance against him without having to shoot.”

“Pretty sure that armor has plenty of bulletproofing. You’re welcome in advance.”

He nods a thank you. “Zsasz, focus on guards. People actively attacking us. You’re the best shooter we have, but  _ don’t shoot civilians _ .”

“I have a pretty good memory too Jim.”

“Oswald,” he presses on, “you’re with me.”

He nods once. Jim doesn’t need to tell Oswald what they’re going to try and accomplish while they’re here.

“I’m scouting ahead. If you get impatient you better be quiet when you follow me in there.” Selina cracks the door open and slips inside, light only briefly shining into the hall before she shuts the door behind her.

“I don’t like this James.” He pulls his primary weapon off its strap and into his arms, leaving his cane against the wall outside the door. “If  _ I  _ was kidnapping people and brainwashing them I would at least have  _ one  _ guard outside the front door.”

“I know.” Jim puts a hand on Oswald’s shoulder. “If it looks like a trap and feels like a trap, it’s probably a trap.”

“And yet here we are marching straight into it without a care in the world.” Oswald glances at Jim’s arm and then back to Jim’s face. “One way or another Detective, I  _ will  _ be leaving this campus with Ed safe and sound. I’m not sorry to say I’ll let the rest of you martyr yourselves on his behalf.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Jim’s not really in the mood to throw his life away just yet, although Zsasz appears unconcerned with the prospect. “You’re in a good mood.” Jim tells him, and Zsasz smiles.

“If it is a trap he’s going to get to enact a fair amount of justifiable homicide in the process.” Oswald shakes Jim’s hand free so he can face Zsasz directly. “I don’t need you trying to showboat in there. One shot per person, understood? I know you’re happy, or whatever emotions you’re actually capable of feeling. Satisfaction, I’d assume. Excitement perhaps?” Oswald clears his throat. “In any case, save the theatrics for another time. Think of this as the most important mission of your life, because if Ed doesn’t come out of this okay, you’re going to have to find yourself a new patron. Understood?”

Jim doesn’t let himself get bogged down in the finer details of Oswald’s statement.

“Crystal clear boss.” Zsasz cracks his neck once, then the other way, and he settles into an easy stance. No, not quite easy, but he’s loose, limber. This is a Victor Zsasz he can tolerate working with.

And he will never say that out loud.

The door creaks open and all three of them point their weapons at the door, and at Selina as it turns out. “Selina, did you find them? How many guards are there?”

She got in and out fine, so it can’t be too crowded. She appears unharmed, there’s no sign of alert, so they should be able to get inside and keep the element of surprise.

“We got a few problems.” She stretches out her back. “See, I  _ think  _ this is the right place, but it’s pretty empty. A few pieces of equipment are on these carts, you know, the ones for moving a lot of heavy shit around? I think they’re clearing out.”

“Did you see him?” Oswald gets in her face, glaring. “I swear to you, if you don’t tell me-”

“Relax feathers, I didn’t  _ see  _ him, but I heard some chatter. A few of the lab grunts running around talked about some new ‘patient’.”

“So there are civilians?” Jim asks.

“A few, yeah. And a couple guards, lucky day for you big guy.” Selina nods to Zsasz. “We need to be quick though. I didn’t hear anything specific but I think people are being moved next. There’s nothing else left to clear out.”

_ No wonder there’s no guards out here.  _ “Selina, lead the way. Zsasz, you’re next. And this is the only time I’m going to tell you to not hesitate.”

“Can do.” He follows Selina as she slips back through the door, light from the lab spilling out into the hall.

“Oswald, we’re going to find him. And we’re going to get him out of here.”

“I already know that James, but I appreciate the reassurance.” He switches off the safety for the semi-automatic and enters the lab, followed immediately by Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note! Important! I will not have my computer with me over the holidays, and Will Not be updating on Monday. I'll see if I can get the next chapter done, plus any others, and might post extra at the end of the month, but be aware there will be no new chapter on Monday.


	19. Chapter 19

Jim can imagine the space used to be full of equipment and machines working on whatever Strange is up to these days, but as it stands now the space feels more like a storage facility, with a few crates and boxes stacked in the corners and turned off machines on dollies, ready to be wheels away to their supposed new location. There’s a good chance one of the other exits is on the ground level, possibly in a parking facility. It would explain how no one has noticed an entire unaccounted lab.

“Selina, Zsasz, go left. Find Bruce and get him out of here. Oswald, we’re going right.” He doesn’t bother keeping an eye on the two of them, since they’re both A) perfectly capable at maintaining a low profile and B) he has his own team of two to keep from getting caught.

Jim leads himself and Oswald down the right side of the lab, peering into storage spaces through small windowed doors and keeping a close eye out for anyone that works for Strange. The space is relatively quiet, the few open lab spaces seemingly abandoned during the move, and Jim is acutely aware of how noisily Oswald has to walk without his cane, not that Jim is all that light on his feet either. It’s difficult to keep quiet on a cement floor.

“Could you try to walk a little quieter?”

“Oh I’m  _ sorry  _ I’m not a graceful ballerina. Let me just go get my  _ spare leg _ from the car,” he sneers, but he does attempt to move a bit quieter, with moderate success, although he appears rather uncomfortable.

One of these days Jim is going to go an entire day without putting his foot in his mouth regarding Oswald’s leg.

“Don’t hurt yourself if it’s that difficult. We’ll work with it if we have to.”

“I’m  _ fine _ .” But some of the noise returns. Jim starts moving them in spurts, taking a moment to let the quiet settle back around them whenever he thinks he sees a person. Oswald looks grateful for the change of pace even if he doesn’t say so.

Jim finds a door to a hallway and slips inside with Oswald close behind. It’s carpeted, though cheaply; some of the corners and edges are fraying up or buckled. The space is clearly meant as an office area of sorts; Jim has never been a lab kind of guy but he understands that having a floor that can soak up spills is a bad idea. The walls are bare but painted a light yellow/tan color, and there are a few nameplates still on doors. None of them are noteworthy (obviously Strange isn’t an idiot so Jim doesn’t expect him to advertise his location to whoever ends up in his lab) so Jim doesn’t bother committing them to memory.

“I don’t think this is University funded.”

“I can’t imagine they’d approve of kidnapping, although Ed might have some interesting stories if you ask him about historic psych research.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jim peeks around a corner and moves back quickly, swearing. “Someone’s there.”

It was a woman, short in stature, brown hair in a pony tail. He didn’t get any more details from such a quick glance. She’s probably unarmed, an educated guess, but that doesn’t mean she won’t call for help if she sees two armed strangers in the hall.

Oswald starts panicking quietly, eyes wide and his hands more securely holding his weapon up at the ready. He stares at Jim, then the space, then back, and Jim shushes him while ushering the two of them into a nearby room, which turns out to be a water closet. He shuts the door and they both wait in silence as footsteps get closer and then farther away.

“I think we’re in the clear.” Jim rubs his face and starts trying to slow his heart rate by taking deep breaths. “Jesus that was close.”

Too close, and not in the, ‘we just barely got away unscathed’ sort of way.

“I’m only going to say this once. The lack of any sort of alarm in this building is  _ astounding _ .”

Jim nods. “It’s not great.” Sure, she might not have  _ seen  _ either of them, but they weren’t exactly quiet when they rushed into their hiding place. “There’s no way she didn’t hear us.”

“Then it’s a  _ trap _ , Jim. It’s a trap, and we’re still just waltzing straight into it with  _ no  _ idea what we’re doing or who we’ll even  _ find  _ here,” Oswald says, exasperated and frustrated.

“Be honest with me,” he starts, and he has to stop for a moment, because Jim  _ never  _ wants to think about having to leave people behind but, “do you think Bruce can take us all if he has to?”

“Yes,” Oswald says with  _ zero  _ hesitation.

“I was afraid of that.” Jim takes a deep breath. “Oswald, if we find Ed and you can get him out of here with you, just get yourselves out of here safely. Selina, Zsasz, and I can try to take him on together.” He puts his hand in his pocket and wraps his fingers around the handle end of the taser. “We’ll figure something out.”

Oswald looks Jim in the eye, a queasy, unsteady look on his face. “You’re offering up yourself and them  _ just  _ so I can get him out of here? Are you going to tell me you’re doing this because you’re a  _ nice guy _ ?”

He’d like to think he’s a nice guy, but he also knows he’s doing this because he’s been purposely forgetting to tell Oswald about some of the more sensitive details about Ed’s capture, namely, that scream Jim is sure he heard. Before he’d forgotten, then once he’d remembered they were neck deep in their planning meeting, and now here he is, having to tell Oswald his boyfriend, no, his  _ husband  _ screamed in pain, obviously because he  _ was  _ in pain, because Bruce attacked them, and Jim wasn’t able to do anything to stop him. He wishes he’d done this before Oswald was armed. “The last thing I heard before I blacked out was Ed screaming in pain.” Oswald gapes at him. “I told you he was hurt, just, not  _ that  _ hurt.”

“You told me he hit his  _ head _ not that he,” Oswald sputters, “that he was  _ screaming  _ in  _ pain _ . That seems like an important detail to omit  _ James _ .”

“Christ.” Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. “I should have been more specific, okay? I’m sorry. You were already worked up about him being  _ gone _ at all, and I thought,” he stops, shaking his head. His mind’s been all over the place. It might have been a bad idea to ignore Alfred’s offer to check him for a concussion. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what condition he’s in. If you can get him out of here yourself, you should do it, because I can’t guarantee he’s going to be able to stand up to Bruce in a fight.”

Or, if he’s honest, he can’t guarantee that  _ Oswald  _ will be able to stand up to Bruce in a fight. There’s no sign of torn stitches, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened, and even though the blood transfusion worked it doesn’t mean he’s suddenly cured. And his leg has to hurt like hell.

“I can see I was just a  _ fool  _ then, assuming you cared about either of us enough to value our well-being. My mistake. I’ll be sure to not make it again.” He shoves Jim once, irritation and anger (and plenty of fear) twisting his expression downward. “I’ll just get the two of us out of your way, since neither of us is at  _ 100% _ . We’ll just slow you down.”

“I’m sorry!” He huffs once. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I said that, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Ed sooner. I think I need my head examined, Jesus.” He feels like he’s aged five  _ years _ , not five days.

Oswald blinks. “I wasn’t exactly  _ fishing  _ for another apology but I suppose it’s welcome all the same.” He coughs, the barest hint of embarrassment coloring his face. “You’re awfully thoughtful Jim Gordon. I’m going to be very disappointed if you’re not being sincere.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t waste the time  _ pretending _ to give a shit about you.”

“Touching.” Oswald rechecks his safety and faces the door. “If you’ve finished flattering me with your concern I think we’re about done with this chat.”

Jim shrugs. He  _ is  _ being sincere, and something tells Jim that Oswald doesn’t actually think he’s lying. “We need to get out of here.”

“I can’t imagine a bathroom is a strong location strategically.”

Jim rubs his face. “Not just this bathroom. We need to regroup with Selina and Zsasz, see if we can get Ed out, and maybe bring in some backup to get Bruce out safely.”

Jim and Oswald exit the small bathroom slowly, checking both ends of the hall for any other workers before emerging. They continue down the hall over dingy, bunching carpet and empty rooms with furniture dents from desks and filing cabinets. There’s no sign of Bruce, Ed, or Strange. The lack of  _ any  _ sign of Strange in this space is somewhat unnerving. Jim reminds himself, however, that it might mean that he’s already in his new lab space. Not everything is a bad sign.

They take another turn at the end of the hall into a different uncarpeted area, one Jim decides was  _ actual  _ storage based on the bare-bones shelving attached to walls and a few lingering file boxes on the floor. Jim tries to open one of the doors and finds it locked; he jiggles the handle a couple times more just to make sure it isn’t sticking, but no, it’s locked, and that sets off a few warning bells in his head.

“Oswald, can you pick this?”

“I’m not  _ unskilled  _ if that’s what you’re wondering.” Oswald lifts his rifle up and slams the butt end on the handle, snapping it off with a loud clang before Jim can do more than reach his hand out, an aborted request to  _ not  _ do that still half forming in his mouth. It clatters to the floor and rolls away, and Jim glares at Oswald when he looks back innocently. “I prefer direct approaches.”

“Are you  _ trying  _ to get us caught?”

“We’ve already established that this is  _ clearly _ a trap James. Don’t make me waste any more time by trying to open this door nicely.”

Jim rolls his eyes and pushes the door in slightly, freezing when he sees the unmistakable shape of a pair of legs, clearly attached to someone lying on the floor. He pushes the door open fully, slipping inside and hurrying Oswald in after him. It’s Ed, thank God it’s Ed, and he’s blindfolded, hands tied or cuffed behind his back, and lying on his right side. “Os-”

“Ed!” he says, too loud in the small space. Ed flinches, and clears his throat, lifting his head as Oswald forces himself down onto the floor in front of Ed.

“Oswald, get the blindfold,” Jim says as he hurries to kneel and untie Ed’s hands.

“It’s unbelievable how much faith you have in your damn riddles,” Oswald is saying as he shoves the blindfold up onto Ed’s forehead. “Honestly, if your inability to realize  _ no one  _ else knows what the hell you’re saying gets you killed one of these days I’ll never forgive you.”

“Oswald,” Ed croaks. “I’m fairly certain the mere fact that you’ve gotten here proves you  _ wrong _ .”

“Can you two do this another time?” Jim moves back to the door and peers into the hallway. “We need to get going while there’s no one around.”

Ed’s pushed himself up into a leaning seated position, blinking fast in the harsh lighting. His glasses are missing; Jim hopes that doesn’t matter.

“Detective there is the distinct possibility that I might-”

There’s a short, loud bang, then another, both from another space in the lab but close enough to know they’re gunshots. Jim swears under his breath and turns back to Ed and Oswald, reaching out a hand to help Ed off the floor. Oswald uses his rifle as leverage in order to stand and offers out his hand as well, which Ed takes warily. They hoist him up, and Ed shouts, right leg buckling and dragging him and Oswald back to the floor.

“Ed,” Jim checks the door again, turning from the small gap and back to Ed, “what the hell- fuck.”

He didn’t see it before, back when Ed was still lying on the ground, but there’s an unmistakable, unnatural kink in Ed’s right leg. It’s broken, not enough to break the skin, but enough to cripple him. He’s not quite screaming, but he’s also not quiet (not that Jim can blame him) but he’s going to call attention to them. Oswald, who’s clearly messing up his leg by crouching the way he is, is shushing him, hands on his arm and the back of his head, letting Ed press against his shoulder in an attempt the muffle the sound.

“Shh, shush,” Oswald gulps, breathing fast and shallow. Ed’s shoved something in his mouth (the blindfold) and clenches his fists in Oswald’s coat. “You’re always telling me to grin and bear it when I had to talk to the damn press so you can manage for five damn minutes until we get out of here. Do you hear me?” He’s speaking low and fast, words biting but he’s still trying to soothe Ed with his hands. “Jim Gordon if you don’t get over here and  _ help us up _ -”

“You both stay here.” He needs to go get Zsasz  _ now _ . “I’ll get help, just stay put and hold your ground.”

“You’re going to just  _ abandon  _ us?”

_ No _ , Jim thinks. He can see how badly Ed’s leg must hurt. “He can’t  _ walk  _ Oswald.”

Ed’s panting, a few tears and drops of sweat are trickling down his face. “Detective I believe I could walk with a proper splint.”

As if he believes that, and even if he did, it’s not like he has the supplies for that. Jim shakes his head, another shot goes off down the hall, this time closer. “Stay here. Shoot anyone that comes through the door. I’ll bring Zsasz back here and we’ll get you two out.”

Jim just needs to follow those gunshots and he’ll probably find Zsasz. And once he has Zsasz they can carry Ed out of here. And once he’s out of here, well, then he’ll just run back in here and they’ll try to get Bruce.

He pulls the door open, gun up at the ready, and comes face to face with Strange. “Jesus Christ!”

“I would appreciate it if you’ll agree to step back inside the storage room, Detective Gordon. I have a few things I intend to say to yourself and your two companions, and I’d hate to have to repeat myself.” He smiles.

“You’re unarmed.” A guess at best, and at worst a  _ wrong  _ guess, but if he’s right… “What’s stopping me from putting you under arrest?” Or just shooting him. Jim is  _ this close  _ to ignoring his role as an officer and shooting Strange here and now.

“I’d imagine a combination of uncertainty regarding Bruce Wayne and your team, and some lingering high moral standing. Although I’m beginning to question that given your choice of allies.” Jim looks down a moment, then back at Strange’s face. “And if that isn't enough to convince you, I'm sure this," he indicates a small earpiece, "will." "Bluetooth?" "I direct line to Bruce Wayne. Should I need his aid, he'll be here in just a moment. Now please,” he steps around Jim and holds the door open, “join me for a moment. I have a few things to say that I’m certain you’ll want to hear.”

Oswald is giving him a very dirty look when Jim steps back into the room with Strange right behind him. He says, unamused, “I’m going to assume something in your plan has gone awry, Detective.”

Jim imagines Oswald wants to shoot him in the face at least a little bit, and he’s thankful for the restraint.

“I’m sure the three of you had a different idea about how tonight would end,” Strange begins, and Jim isn’t sure which three he’s addressing (himself and the two in the room with him or an incorrect count of his team) but he doesn’t ask for any clarification, “and I have to applaud your ingenuity. Given the inevitability of this outcome you’ve done rather well for yourselves.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jim asks.

“That’s the key difference between myself and the mismatched company you’ve decided to keep, Detective Gordon. I have no plans to get lost in a monologue, detailing my current projects before they’ve reached completion. I will tell you, however, that you three know so little of what I’ve accomplished these past few years.” He looks pleased, and very calm, not even a hint of doubt. “Detective Gordon, I do have to thank you. I suspected you would bring along Mr. Cobblepot, but I had no idea you’d also deliver me Selina Kyle and Victor Zsasz. You’ve saved me a fair amount of time and effort.”

Shit. Of course he knows who’s all here. And he’s already gotten to Ivy, and Bruce, and now Jim’s starting to worry about Ed. “You’re trying to control all of them.”

“As I said, Detective, I have no intentions to over explain myself.” He adjusts his rose-tinted glasses, looking very pleased with himself. “Now I have no intentions of bringing you along, space is at a premium and I’m afraid I have to save it for a few others I already have in mind, but if you’re determined to attempt to rescue Bruce Wayne while you’re here I’m not going to stand in your way. I’ll even save you a bit of time. Just follow the hall until you find the loading docks and I’m sure you’ll find him.”

He knows he’s only being told this because Strange is confident he’ll fail, but damn it, Jim has to at least try. “Oswald-”

“Detective I think you misunderstand.  _ You’re  _ welcome to try to bring Bruce to his senses. I have a few things I need to speak with Mr. Cobblepot and Mr. Nygma about before I take my leave. I suggest you get going. I’m sure you’re aware that time is running out for your team.”

He looks to Oswald, to the determined fire in his eyes and the dazed, pained look in Ed’s, and after a curt nod from Oswald, Jim rushes out of the storage room and starts sprinting down the hall.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Monday update a few hours early! I have company tomorrow and don't know if I'd have time to post then.  
> Only 2 more chapters and one missing scene to go!

Jim continues down the hall at a hurried pace until he finds a discarded shell casing on the floor.

“Zsasz,” he touches it carefully to see if it’s still warm, standing back up and brushing off his hand when, yeah, it’s a fresh shell, and that means Jim is probably going to find a victim or two lying around. Jim hopes he actually listened, but also, he doesn’t like what it means if he did. So far he hasn’t seen any guards, but there’s no reason to assume there aren’t any around.

He moves more carefully after finding the shell, crouching with his gun at the ready as he moves towards the direction Strange indicated. The lab begins opening up more the further he goes until he’s back to the main open floor plan of the research area, and Jim finds another two shell casings, along with a discarded Batarang.

“God damn it.” He doesn’t see any blood or signs of a struggle. Jim moves past the weapon and past an alcove when a hand clamps down on his shoulder and drags him into a recessed area of the wall. His gun hand is twisted up and behind his back, and he grunts from the awkward twist.

“Jim,” Selina sighs, relieved, and releases him. “What happened to feathers?”

“We found Ed. But Strange found us.” He rubs his wrist and glances back out into the main area. “What’re you doing? Where’s Zsasz?”

“Toying with Bruce, probably. We’re trying to get him cornered but he’s feinting left and right. I don’t think he’s even trying anything.”

“He’s stalling.” At least, that’s what Jim suspects he’s been told to do. Strange is probably on his way out of the building. Jim just hopes it isn’t with Ed and Oswald in tow. “Why were there gunshots?”

“Zsasz took a few pot shots at him. And don’t look at me like that he made sure to  _ miss _ .”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not going to hit him on accident.”

Selina rolls her eyes. “Did you forget who we’re talking about? Zsasz doesn’t miss unless he  _ wants  _ to. If he doesn’t want to hit, then he won’t. End of story.”

“Where is Zsasz anyway?” Selina shrugs. “Selina-”

“He ran off like five minutes ago. This place is a ghost town, by the way. The few people I did see before already split.” She shakes her head. “So you found Ed?”

“His right leg’s broken.” Selina grimaces and sucks in a breath. “We’re going to have to carry him out of here.”

As long as they can actually get away from Bruce, and that’s ignoring the possibility that Ed hasn’t been put under Strange’s control too. He doesn’t have a lot of hope in their favor. Strange has been ahead of them at every turn, starting with Ivy, and he’s probably been having Bruce follow them around town, telling him how “well” they’re doing at solving this case.

“Selina, I really don’t know how this is going to end.”

“I have a few ideas, and they aren’t all that pretty. You?”

“We might need to leave Bruce behind.” He admits. “Ed can’t walk, and Oswald’s going to end up tearing his stitches  _ again _ trying to help Ed get out safely. We weren’t ready to handle Strange, but he was more than ready to deal with us. If we get Ed out,  _ maybe  _ we can figure out a way to follow them so we can get Bruce later.”

“Glad one of us has some optimism about getting out of here,” she says sarcastically. She peeks out of their hiding place. “Come on, Zsasz went this way last I saw.”

Jim watches behind them as Selina moves forward, leading the two of them towards the fabled second exit. It isn’t for a parking ramp like Jim thought, but the doors are double wide, certainly large enough to move out all of Strange’s equipment into wherever the doors lead. When Jim walks over and tries them, he finds the doors locked.

“Me and Zsasz tried that earlier,” Selina tells him. She’s no longer bothering with trying to be quiet. “Pretty sure this was a setup.”

“Yeah,” Jim combs his free hand through his hair. “We should try the other door after we get Zsasz.”

“Pretty sure that one’s going to be locked too but okay.” She cracks her knuckles. “Even if we go down Jim, I’m not going to go down without a fight.”

“Why else do you think I wanted your help?” He’s known Selina is a fighter since she was thirteen. He hears a set of rapid-fire shots.  _ Zsasz _ , he thinks, but no, that’s not quite right. Zsasz only has pistols. A cold, icy feeling shoots down his back. “Oswald-”

“Down!” Selina drags Jim to the ground as a series of Batarangs sail overhead, clanking against the wall behind them. “Good news Jim I think we’ve found them.”

“Lucky us,” he groans. He catches a glimpse of Zsasz as he moves around a corner, and Bruce, cowl firmly in place, dodging a shot from Zsasz and slipping away. “Zsasz,” Jim calls him over, staying low in a crouch.

The moment he turns his back on Bruce he reappears, a warning call is stuck in Jim’s throat, but Zsasz still turns, and fires off a shot right at Bruce’s chest.

Jim gapes. Bruce staggers, kneels on one knee and digs at his chest, and the bullet clinks against the ground after he digs it out of his chest armor.

Right. “Zsasz!” He gives him a ‘what the hell’ look. “The fuck are you thinking?”

“He’s wearing armor Jim.” Zsasz laughs at him, and shakes his head.

“Don’t  _ shoot  _ him!” Jim can’t believe he has to  _ tell  _ him this.

“We were hoping it would knock the wind out of him.” Selina tells him. “Not the best option but we don’t have much.”

“Well there’s three of us now.” Jim looks back to Bruce, at his uncomfortable crouch and the dent in his armor. Abruptly, Bruce stands up, and throws the cowl off. His pupils are dilated wide, and there’s a communicator in his left ear, similar to the one in Jim’s. He’s staring right at him and Selina, breathing heavily. “Bruce?”

“Cooperation is appreciated,” he tells them. “Although I am to inform you that I have been approved to use excessive force should the need arise, in an attempt to discourage you from fighting back.”

“So that’s a bad sign.” Jim assumes this means Strange has either left the lab or he’s just about to, and the moment he’s truly gone Bruce is going to use whatever means necessary to try and subdue them for Strange. “Strange wants you and Zsasz.”

“He  _ wants  _ us?”

“Like Bruce.” Jim indicates Bruce. “He wants you under his control.” Zsasz looks back at him, the barest hints of alarm on his face.

“If you’ll put down your weapons and comply you can follow me to the transport vehicles.” Bruce looks to all three of them. “Your lack of cooperation is noted.” He lunges, striking with an open palm at the center of Zsasz’s chest.

Selina jumps up and strikes, sweeping under Bruce’s legs and shoving Zsasz back out of reach. He catches himself and fires a round off into Bruce’s armored chest. They’re all faster than Jim, fists and open palms flying between Selina and Bruce, Zsasz firing across the room at a guard Jim didn’t even  _ see  _ before he hit the floor with a single wound in his forehead.

“Zsasz, take the guards!” That can’t be the only one Strange is sending their way. He’s going to try and overwhelm them to give Bruce a better chance to take everyone down. Jim pulls out his gun and fires twice as more guards swarm in, at least a dozen or so, and begin firing. Once he’s out of ammo in his clip, he returns it to his holster, because as fast as the guards can approach Zsasz sends them to the floor. He doesn’t need Jim’s help. He doesn’t let himself ignore the fact that more guards keep coming, but he focuses more of his energy on Selina and Bruce, especially after he sends a powerful kick straight into her stomach. Jim moves closer and punches left, Bruce blocks, and uses his left arm to throw Jim back onto the floor.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the help,” Selina says as she leaps up and onto Bruce’s shoulders, looping her legs under his arms, her arms securely around his neck, “but you’re a shit fighter nowadays Gordon.”

Bruce slams down onto the floor, hard, trapping Selina under him and grabbing one of her legs, twisting himself around and pinning her. Jim struggles to his feet and grapples one of Bruce’s arms, getting a few ineffective hits to his shoulder as Selina struggles out of his grip. Bruce grabs Jim by his left arm, and a flash of fear freezes Jim, a single thought,  _ please for the love of God don’t break it _ , as Zsasz shoots right at them, hitting Bruce’s chest, and giving him enough of a shock to let Jim break free.

Selina grabs out her bolero, spinning it so fast Jim can’t see more than a circular whirl at her side, and throws it at Bruce’s legs. He dodges easily, but she’s quick to follow, hitting Bruce in the side with a series of kicks as he feints away from her weapon.

_ Overwhelm him _ , Jim thinks. He’s still human. Bruce can’t do everything himself, it’s why there are guards, or were, more accurately. A quick glance over to the other side of the room and Jim confirms that the most recent wave is down, and Zsasz is tossing aside one of his pistols, presumably because he’s out of ammo.

And then he just fucking  _ leaves _ . He starts hightailing it down the hallway where Jim left Ed and Oswald. Shit, okay, maybe it’s a  _ good  _ thing he’s going down there.

Also, this means he can put all his focus on Bruce, which is good, because he barely dodges a punch as it flies towards his face. He might not be fast enough to fight, but he can still  _ dodge _ , and he provides enough distraction for Selina to grab one of Bruce’s legs and pull him to the ground, but he catches himself on his hands and uses the leverage to drag her down with him, and again, he pins her.

It isn’t working. Every time Jim lands a punch, or Selina manages to get him into a hold, he recovers almost immediately. He has no concern for himself, only his directive. He’s taken three bullets to his chest armor, which hasn’t done more than dent it, but that has to  _ hurt _ . Jim has seen people crack ribs taking a shot like that.

He’s going to keep going until he drops dead or manages to knock Jim and Selina unconscious.

“Bruce!” He does the only thing he can think of, he tries talking. “Bruce, come on, you know you don’t want to do this.”

“Save your breath Jim,” Selina uses her legs to shove Bruce up and off her. “He’s been  _ hypnotized  _ or whatever Strange wants to call it.” She blocks a series of punches and a kick before flipping back and out of reach.

“Bruce we’re on your  _ side _ .” He just needs to get  _ something  _ through, even for just a second. It’s conditioning, and conditioning can be broken. They just need to figure out  _ how _ .

“Does it  _ look  _ like we’re on his side Jim!” She punches Bruce in the nose, and he staggers for a moment, hand to his face and a couple drops of blood coming out of his nose. “Well?”

For just a moment, there’s a brief flicker, a tiny shrinking of his pupils, and for a second Jim thinks that might’ve done it, but they go back to being fully dilated and he lunges at Selina, finesse forgotten in favor of fighting dirty. He punches her stomach, grabs her hair and throws her to the floor. His nose isn’t crooked but it’s still dripping blood, which he’s ignoring in favor of trying to slam Selina’s head on the floor.

But if there’s one thing Selina can do, it’s fight dirty. She kicks with both feet,  _ hard _ , right on his groin, and he coughs, kneeling as he tries to catch his breath. Selina’s breathing fast, and when she tries to stand she staggers a few times before she’s fully upright.

“Bruce, we’re here to help,” Jim says. Selina looks at him from the corner of her eyes, but he keeps going. “Bruce, come on, we want to get you home.”

“I’m telling you, it doesn’t  _ work  _ like that. You can’t just shock him back to being himself.” Selina moves while Bruce is still down, grabbing one of his arms and twisting it back. He tries to struggle, but he’s still trying to get his breath back. “At best, we’re bringing him out of here in handcuffs, or maybe a straightjacket.”

“Bruce,” Jim kneels down in front of him, “I know you’re in there. I know you want to fight this.”

Hell, he’s probably  _ still _ fighting it in his own way. He left Jim at the GCPD, he kept the notes intact  _ and  _ drew Jim’s attention to them. Somewhere in there, Bruce  _ has  _ to be trying to shake off this control.

“He’s tensing Jim,” Selina warns him. Jim probably has about ten seconds before Bruce tries to punch him in the face. Selina shoves him forward, her foot on the small of Bruce’s back and her free hand in his hair. He grunts when she twists his arm just a bit higher.

Bruce looks left, and Jim can hear a faint hissing as, presumably, Bruce hears another set of directions in his ear. Jim grabs the communicator, but Bruce grabs Jim’s arm, ignoring the hold Selina has him in to keep the earpiece in place. But Jim has two free hands, not one, and he yanks the communicator free before stomping on it with the heel of his shoe. “There, that’s one thing out of the way.”

Bruce’s face twists with fury, and he yanks his twisted arm forward, throwing Selina at Jim and sending them both to the floor. He actually  _ snarls  _ as he grabs Selina by the arm, twisting it up and behind her the same way she did to him, and she falls to her knees. Jim grabs Bruce’s arm to drag him off her, but Bruce tosses him away easily, sending him to the floor and knocking his head against the ground. His vision blurs for a second and he blinks, groaning as he sits up and clears his vision.

“Better think fast,” Selina says, gritting her teeth as Bruce gets dangerously close to dislocating her shoulder.

He can’t shoot, he can’t win a fist fight, Jim scrambles up to his feet, seriously considering just  _ tackling  _ Bruce so Selina can get away, and hell, honestly, why can’t he come up with anything better? But he shakes his head, he can’t believe himself sometimes honestly, and he throws himself at Bruce in a full body tackle.

Maybe he’ll get some self preservation by the time he retires if he makes it to retirement age.

He rolls away immediately after, getting up to his feet and watching as Selina forces Bruce back into a hold, though he’s struggling against her headlock.

“Selina,” Jim starts, “I have an idea, but you’re going to hate it.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re wrong,” she moves her arms into a better hold, both of her arms under his and her hands on the back of his head, “but try me.”

Jim puts his hand in his pocket, hand closing over the taser, the words “you can’t  _ shock  _ him out of this” ringing in his ears, and he looks at her once before pulling it out of his pocket. “Alfred gave me this.”

“Cool flashlight,” she kicks Bruce’s knees so he’ll fall forward. “Why does it matter right now?”

“Because I’m going to electrocute him with this taser and you can either let go or get shocked yourself.”

Her eyes go wide with surprise, and Bruce takes the opportunity to throw her from his back and move to stand, but Jim is ready this time. He moves forward and presses the taser to Bruce’s neck. “Sorry Bruce,” he says as he hits the button.

Bruce’s eyes roll back and he falls, jittering and quaking from the shock. Jim puts a hand on the back of his head as he rides out the aftershocks, and Selina moves closer so she can put her fingers to his neck. “Heart rate’s kind of high, not that that’s a surprise or anything.”

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” he admits. “Ed’s notes talked about electricity, so Alfred gave me this back at the Manor.”

“Fingers crossed,” she says idly, watching as Bruce blinks. Jim notes, with relief, that his pupils appear to be shrinking back to normal.

“You with us Bruce?” Jim asks. Bruce keeps blinking, eyes glazing over a little. “Bruce?”

“Is it safe to assume,” he starts, voice rasping, “that someone’s been shooting me in the chest? It feels like someone’s been doing that.”

Jim laughs with relief. “Yeah, you can thank Zsasz for that.”

“Detective?” Bruce looks over to Jim. “Let Alfred know that the improvement to the bulletproofing is appreciated, but I’d like to consider adding some extra padding behind the plates.”

“You can do that yourself when we get you home.” He looks up at Selina. “Guess you can shock him back to being himself.”

“I refuse to respond to that. You  _ did not  _ just make that pun.” She puts a hand on Bruce’s forehead, fingers threading into his hair. “Bat Boy, you have a  _ lot  _ of BS to make up for after tonight.”

Bruce closes his eyes. “I’ll make a note of that once the tingling goes away in my limbs.”

Jim shakes his head and laughs to himself. Selina gives him a questioning look, and he explains, “I am going to get so much hell if we have to shock Ed next.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have the Monday chapter now!!

Bruce is weakened, but not terribly, not enough to need carried out of the lab at least. Still, Jim insists they move slowly, and he and Selina make sure to flank Bruce on either side, arms draped over their shoulders as they drag him to the door where they first entered.

“Do you know where we are?” Jim asks.

“Strange’s current lab, or at least it was his current lab.” Bruce is breathing heavily, and his head is drooping. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I don’t know the new location.”

“Not your fault he covered his tracks.” Jim and Selina help Bruce sit on the floor beside the door. “He’s being careful. Didn’t tell us anything about his new plan except that he wants more people under his control, which wouldn’t be hard to figure out.”

“It’s possible he expected you to succeed,” Bruce mumbles. He’s running on fumes at best. Selina pats the side of his head when he starts drooping sideways, and he snaps his head up. “I don’t want to sound pessimistic immediately following your success, but it’s possible he  _ wanted  _ you to succeed.”

Jim nods. “I know.” But damn it, he’s going to let himself be happy about this for at least a few minutes. “You both stay here. I’m going to go see about Oswald and Ed.”

“Not like we’re planning on running off,” Selina says. She slides down the wall beside Bruce and places a hand on his knee. “I’ll do a little triage, see what needs attention first.”

“Good, thanks.” Jim starts to gear himself up for a jog, but the ache from fighting Bruce decides to settle into his entire body after the first step, and he groans quietly, slowing to a walking pace. He’s not going to be able to move for a week after this.

“Problems Jim?” Selina asks. He’s sure if he looked back he’d see her laughing at him and his old age.

“I’m fine,” he says, grimacing at how rough his voice sounds. “Good thing I’m already out on bereavement leave, Jesus.”

He needs to focus, because there’s still a good chance there are more guards around, or at the very least, Ed’s going to need shocked to bring him back to himself. They’ll need to try to keep his leg stable if it comes to that.

As he moves towards the storage room he left Ed and Oswald in Jim becomes very aware of the lack of any sort of threat from the guards. Zsasz has been busy, and Jim gets a sick feeling in his stomach. He  _ knew  _ this was a risk of bringing in Zsasz, but he let it happen anyway.

The very  _ second  _ Bruce is feeling better, he’s bringing Zsasz back to Arkham.

“Christ.” He pulls out his gun and continues through the lab towards the storage hall.

_ Justifiable homicide _ , he thinks. It’s his fault for telling him that, for giving him the okay to defend himself. Zsasz is a killer, plain and simple, and Jim enabled him. He’s the one that needs to deal with his guilty conscience.

It’s not really comforting to remember that if he’d had officers with him, this probably would have still happened.

He’ll feel better once this is all well and truly over, but based on what Bruce said earlier, he’s not convinced this will be over for a long, long time.

The guilt doesn’t exactly go away when he gets to the storage room, but finding the three of them relatively unharmed, Zsasz currently attempting to put a splint on Ed’s leg, it helps. He was afraid of what he’d find, but somehow they pulled it off. Bruce and Ed are safe.

Now they just need to get the hell out of here, and that means getting Ed fixed up enough to remain upright until they get to the car. Ed’s grimacing in pain; Jim can’t imagine Zsasz ever picked up proper triage training but it also wouldn’t be the biggest surprise in the world.

“Let me,” he says as he kneels by Ed’s leg. “Feeling like yourself Nygma?”

“I am feeling a very lar-” he hits his fist against the wall and sucks in a breath when Jim begins wrapping the splint. “I am in pain, if that wasn’t obvious.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t  _ walked  _ on it you wouldn’t be suffering so terribly.” Oswald’s words are biting, but he’s also letting Ed squeeze the life out of his hand. “I hope you’re prepared to carry one of us Detective. Zsasz can handle whoever you decide not to help.”

Jim chuckles under his breath. “Not going to happen.” He stands once the splint is secure and offers Oswald a hand. “Come on. We should get everyone out of this lab in case Strange has a failsafe in place.”

Oswald accepts his help, too tired to get angry at Jim right now. “I really don’t know if I’d be all that upset if he did.”

Jim knows the feeling. They’re all going to probably sleep for an entire week after this.

He and Zsasz both take a side and help Ed get upright. “So why aren’t you under Strange’s control?”

“As I told Oswald,” Ed seethes as Zsasz shifts so Ed’s right arm is around his shoulders, “I am not susceptible. It was never a concern.”

Jim doesn’t ask for an explanation. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to shock Ed.

No one says anything as they help Ed hobble his way to the door where Selina and Bruce are waiting. Bruce’s eyes are closed, mouth parted slightly; Jim figures out he’s asleep when Selina shushes them as they approach. “Bat boy passed out like, immediately after you left,” she whispers, “might want to just call Alfred.”

“No signal,” Jim whispers back. “He can sleep in the car all he wants.”

“Jim, if you’d be so kind to let me,” Oswald indicates Ed’s left arm and Jim nods, letting Oswald take his place. “I’m sure Zsasz and I are more than capable of carrying him out of here.”

“I’m sure you are.” Jim turns back to Bruce, who’s stirring despite the hushed volume.

He blinks, looking up at Ed, Oswald, and Zsasz, and a small, tired smile perks up one side of his mouth. “Hello.”

Oswald laughs, “hello?  _ That’s  _ the first thing you’re going to say?”

“I don’t think I can properly thank you while I have a few cracked ribs. If you’re willing to use your imagination, picture more excitement and hand shaking. Right now I’d rather stay seated if that’s not going to offend anyone.”

“How the hell are you still the much of a goody two shoes?” Selina shakes her head and stands. “Sorry to burst your bubble Bruce but I am  _ not  _ going to carry you out of here.”

“It was worth a try,” Bruce sighs and reaches out a hand, which Selina takes so she can drag him off the floor. He drapes himself over her, somewhat exaggerated, but he also looks genuinely exhausted. “Not that I don’t trust her Detective, but I think I’ll want someone on both sides of me while we’re walking.”

“Sure.” Jim lets Bruce lean on him and they start the long walk back to the car.

It’s slow going. Jim expected this of course; Ed’s leg is broken and Bruce has, quite honestly, been malnourished and running around without his consent for the past four days at least. Everyone is taking slow, carefully measured steps. Ed’s leg keeps the other group trailing by a bit, but not by much, because every time Bruce attempts to take a deep breath he has to stop and grit his teeth against the swell of pain from his cracked ribs.

“Should’ve called Alfred for a ride, Jim.” Selina tells him. “We can’t all fit in the car.”

“No signal.” And if Jim had had a signal he would’ve told Alfred that Bruce is safe back when they first shocked him out of Strange’s control. “Once we’re above ground I will.”

“Don’t bother James,” Oswald calls up to him. “I have a plan already in place.”

“What plan?” Jim tries to look at Oswald over Bruce’s shoulder, but Bruce is too tall. All he gets is a small glimpse of Zsasz’s forehead and Ed’s messy hair. “Oswald-”

“Never you  _ mind _ Detective. You’re far too nosy. This is supposed to be a celebratory moment after all.”

“Fine.” Jim focuses back on keeping Bruce moving. It’s not like Oswald is  _ wrong _ . “You know if you trusted me you would just tell me what you’re planning.”

Oswald actually  _ laughs  _ at that, and Jim can’t help but smile for a second.

Eventually, just as the first rays of sunlight start streaming across the campus, they reach the entrance to the chem building. “Jesus it’s morning?” Jim didn’t think it took  _ that  _ long to get in and out of there. “I’m going to crash the car if I try to drive.”

“Well,” Oswald starts, a smug (no not smug, but he is preening a little) smile on his face, “good thing I have a backup plan for you.”

“What plan?” Jim asks.

Oswald pulls a cellphone out of his pocket and holds it up to his ear. He tips his head back and forth a couple times, probably waiting for an answer, and then he says, “Gabe, would you be a dear and drive up to that lot we discussed? You’ll be picking up Bruce, Jim, and Selina there.” He hums once and closes his phone. “Well? A thank you would be appreciated, but I understand everyone is feeling rather drained.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says first, and probably feeling the most sincere. “For everything.”

“That’s how you thank someone, James.” Oswald says, patronizing him. “You’re welcome, of course.”

“Strange escaped, I assume,” Bruce says. No one says otherwise and he nods. “I see. That is understandable.”

“We had a few priorities,” Selina side-eyes him. “Unless you wanted us to leave you down there.”

“Not particularly,” he admits. “Following everyone’s recovery, we should regroup and discuss our next moves. Strange isn’t going to stop just because we’ve delayed his plans.”

“You’re both included,” Jim tells Ed and Oswald. Zsasz, not so much.

“I’m touched,” Oswald says, looking at Ed, who smiles back despite his leg. “But I’m afraid we just can’t spare that much time.”

“What?” Jim’s face falls. “The hell are you-”

“We’ll be in Arkham,” Oswald says with a shrug. “It was, after all, what we agreed to before we began this little adventure.”

“Plus, I should probably see a doctor,” Ed adds, only joking a little.

“Yes of course, so you see, Ed and I are going to be rather busy with our lives.”

“You don’t have to go to Arkham,” Jim tells them. As if they were actually planning on going there at all, let alone staying. “Zsasz, you do.”

“Feels like you’re kind of biased Jim Gordon,” Zsasz tells him. He’s also not looking happy about not being included with Ed and Oswald.

“Detective,” Bruce starts, “they’ll need Zsasz with them for the time being.”

“Bruce I can’t just ignore-”

“Please,” Bruce interrupts, “I know it isn’t your ideal, but I’ll explain. Oswald, the three of you are free to go. I’ll contact you after everyone has had a chance to sleep.”

Jim watches them as they walk towards the direction of the car, then turns back to Bruce, who’s currently requesting he be allowed to sit down now that they’re outside. “Bruce he killed twelve people.”

“I know, or I assumed as much. Selina mentioned the guards.” Bruce shifts a fraction and leans with his head resting against a pillar. “They would have done the same to you, Detective. I don’t think you’re part of Strange’s plan.”

“We don’t know anything about his plan, Bruce. I’m glad you’re alright, but he’s still out there, and he’s  _ dangerous _ . Hell, he probably still has Ivy under his control.”

“Yes, that’s safe to assume, but without the efforts of all five of you he would still have me, or he might’ve been able to take control of the rest of you.” Bruce huffs, rubbing at his sore side. “What would you have done if you were the one being swarmed by guards, Detective? I can say with certainty that all of Strange’s men are well armed.”

Jim doesn’t have an answer for that. He turns to Selina, asking, “can you go flag down Gabe for us?”

“Sure thing Jim. Take care of this idiot,” she pats the top of Bruce’s head once before climbing off the stairs and heading off across the campus.

“She’s a keeper.”

“She makes things exciting,” Bruce agrees. “Detective, sit for a moment. I want to try and help you understand a few things.”

“I understand plenty,” he says, but he still sits. “Ed and Oswald are changing. It’s hard to ignore what they’ve done, but Zsasz.” Jim shakes his head. “Zsasz is a killer.”

“He is. We’re not arguing what he’s done Detective Gordon. You believe he belongs in Arkham, and I’m telling you that I don’t necessarily agree with you.” Bruce takes as deep a breath as he is able. “I have done extensive research on all of Gotham’s villains Detective. Knowing who they are and where they’re from often helps me understand what their weaknesses or vices are, and oftentimes it means I can apprehend them without any collateral damage. Victor Zsasz and I are actually very similar.”

“You don’t kill people.”

“No, I don’t, but I want you to understand that up until a certain point, our profiles are nearly identical.”

“I can’t imagine how,” Jim admits. “You’re a good man Bruce. Your parents would be proud.”

“Thank you.” Bruce sighs. “It’s uncanny, really. He was rich, the head of his own international company, and when he was 25 his parents died in a boating accident. He lost everything. His family, his money. All of it.” Jim blinks. He’s not sure what else to do, so he listens. “The differences in our pasts that led to the two outcomes you see today are few and far between. Without Alfred’s support I can’t imagine where I would be today. In an alternate world, it’s possible I would be another Victor Zsasz.” Bruce smiles sadly. “It’s because of my unique position, having had a similar past, but also being a purveyor of justice that I can both sympathize with the catalyst that brought forth the Zsasz we know today while also understanding that it does not make his actions sympathetic. He is a criminal, but Arkham is not the answer.”

“So we’re giving him a free pass? Hoping Ed and Oswald will be a good influence on him?”

“No, Detective, you misunderstand me. His actions are reprehensible. Victor Zsasz has more than earned his place in a facility well suited to handle his specific needs, but Arkham is not that facility. Unfortunately Gotham does not have the proper place for him.” Bruce reaches out a hand and grabs the stair railing, intending to pull himself up. Jim jumps up and helps him stand. “Thank you. I think I saw Selina coming this way, and I would like to get home.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re not bringing Zsasz into Arkham?” Jim asks as he loops one of Bruce’s arms over his shoulders.

“No, I understand the needs of the city. Victor Zsasz needs to be monitored, and Arkham will have to make due for now.” They begin walking towards Selina at a slow, steady pace. “But for the long term, something needs to change. I want to help them, Detective. Oswald, Ed, even Zsasz. As long as there’s still some shred of humanity left in them, then there’s hope, but we have to give them the right tools in order to keep that hope alive.”

Jim doesn’t say anything else, just thinks about what Bruce said as they walk to Gabe’s car. Selina and Bruce get into the back seat and Jim takes the passenger side up front. As they pull out of the lot he pulls out the communicator from his ear and hands it back to Bruce. “I think Alfred would prefer to hear from you.”

Bruce reaches up and takes the communicator. “I’m going to be in so much trouble from him.”

He sounds like he’s fifteen instead of thirty, but when Jim looks back Bruce certainly  _ looks  _ fifteen again, with his head on Selina’s leg and his hands carefully cupped around the communicator as he whispers into the mouthpiece.

But despite his cracked ribs, exhaustion, and any other ailments they can’t yet see, he stays on the line with Alfred for the entire drive back to Wayne Manor, and Jim can set aside his qualms about Zsasz and uncertainties regarding strange for just a minute, because damn it, they got Bruce home, and at the end of the day that means something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be an epilogue, which will set up some of the next story I have. Following this story, I have a oneshot nygmobblepot, and then I will set up the schedule for the next story's posting, which will be once a week and not twice due to style choices.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	22. Epilogue

Three months later Jim finds himself standing at the door the Oswald’s and Ed’s apartment, and if he hadn’t been waiting for more than half a minute he wouldn’t have noticed the tiny eye right next to the door handle with a small, familiar green question mark as the pupil.

“At least it’s subtle,” he sighs. He taps his foot impatiently and knocks a second time, and this time the door opens quickly, and Victor Zsasz looks at him with a big grin on his face.

“Welcome to Enigma Investigative Services Detective Gordon, or should I say Commissioner? Congrats on the promotion.” He shakes Jim’s hand before Jim can protest.

“Why are you here?” He meant to ask, why aren’t you in Arkham, but he’s more than a little stunned.

“He’s on a call right now, but you can wait inside,” Zsasz tells him,  _ politely _ , and he holds the door for Jim so he can enter the space, which has been redecorated with comfortable couches and a large desk on one wall. “You want any coffee? Water?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he says as he sits on a plush gray couch. “How long is his phonecall supposed to take?”

“Oh, could be a minute, could be half an hour.” Zsasz stirs in a spoonful of sugar into his own mug. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Jim is decidedly  _ un _ comfortable right now, but he tries to settle in anyway. Zsasz is humming away, ticking away on a keyboard and downing his mug of coffee in a few giant drinks. He’s wearing a three piece suit minus the jacket, with a green shirt in the same green as Ed’s usual motif. And twice while Jim waits he answers the phone and takes down a few notes.

He’s a fucking secretary.

If Ed hadn’t called him personally he would have left already.

He’s waiting long enough for Zsasz to drink another two cups of coffee, and it’s the most uncomfortable ten minutes of his life, so he decides to try and make small talk, because what else is there to do? And he’s horribly curious about Zsasz and his apparent career change.

“Cream and sugar?” he asks, because there’s nothing else he can think of, and Zsasz really seems to like his coffee.

“Close,” he says as he stirs in a spoonful of something. “It’s milk,” he pours in a little while he says this, “and a spoonful of caffeine powder.”

“Okay.” Jim nods. “Wait what?”

“It gives it an extra kick.”

“You’ve had three cups since I got here!” How is this man not dead from a heart attack?

“I’ve been up for three days Jim,” he says with a smile, and he takes a drink. Jim sits there, blinking, utterly horrified, and Zsasz answers his phone, “Heyo,” he says, calmly, and nods along, “I’ll send him in.” He hangs up. “Good news Jim he’s ready for you.”

“Fine,” he says, standing, trying to shake off some of his surprise. He puts his hands on the door knob for the next room and turns back to Zsasz. “You know that’s going to kill you right?”

“Tell me something I don’t know Jim,” he says cheerily, and he turns back to his monitor.

Jim shakes his head and opens the door to the bedroom,which has been converted into an office space, although there’s still a small bed along the far wall. Ed looks up at him for a moment, smiling, and reaches across the space to shake Jim’s hand. “Jim. It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his head. “So, you look like you’re doing alright.”

“I am doing well, thank you.”

Jim sees a cane beside Ed’s desk, and Ed notices him looking. Ed’s expression flutters a bit, somewhere far away and distressed, but he moves on without an explanation. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jim shakes his head, “but uh first, I have to ask, is Zsasz your secretary?”

“Yes.” Ed nods, pausing for a beat. “He is also my driver.”

“Driver?”  _ I’ve been up for three days _ . “You really trust that guy to drive you around?”

“He drives like a grandmother.” Ed chuckles. “The only reason we’re going to get into an accident is because someone rear ended him for driving too slowly.” He sighs, “besides, it’s not like I have that much of a choice.”

“You know how to dri-oh.” Right. His leg. Specifically, his right leg, the one he needs to drive. “Sorry about that.”

“I’m working on something. In the meantime, Zsasz gets me around well enough.”

He doesn’t look happy about it. In fact, he looks exhausted. There are dark circles under Ed’s eyes and just a hint of more gray at his temples. It tells quite a story; he’s not doing as well as he claims. “Hate to ruin your business but he still has to go back to Arkham.”

“Once Bruce has returned, I assume, unless you want to bring him there Commissioner.” He smiles, tight. “Congrats.”

“Thanks.” He wishes he knew how to ask what he needs, but he’s not sure Ed even knows. “So, you’re an investigator now.”

“You could say that, yes.” Ed gestures to a few files in an organizer. “Despite not being able to advertise I am getting plenty of requests.”

“That’s great Ed.” And he means that. This is way more than Jim could have ever hoped for. “So, you called me about something?”

“Yes!” He reaches down to the floor behind his desk and pulls up a file box. “I have finished with these files, and I’m sure the GCPD will want them back.”

“Th-Ed! You can’t keep doing this!” Jim takes the box, possessively holding it to his stomach. “What kind of investigator are you? Stealing files isn’t part of the job.”

“Well, considering the part where Arkham thinks I still need to be there, it  _ is _ , Jim. If I set foot in the GCPD they’d arrest me on sight.” He smiles sadly. “It’s terribly difficult to convince people in this town that you’re actually making an effort.”

Jim has a few things to say about Ed’s  _ effort _ , but he doesn’t, not now.  _ We have to give them the right tools in order to keep that hope alive _ . Bruce would probably encourage Ed, and thank him for at least returning the files at all. Jim won’t go quite that far, but he has his own ideas. “Well, in the future just  _ ask _ , alright? I’ll sign files out for you  _ when I’m in my office _ .”

“I suppose I could work with that.”

“You’re going to have to.” He shrugs. “Eventually you can just request them yourself, once you’re registered with the city.”

“I can’t imagine that’s going to happen in the short term.” Ed pulls out a notepad and begins writing. Jim watches as his hand flies across the page; Ed’s muttering along as he writes each name in careful, precise print. “I’m going to need these files next. Bruce has requested I work on a project of sorts while he’s away.”

“Fine,” Jim skims the list, “wait these are all villains.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” He chuckles. “I’d love to fill you in but I am under strict orders to keep our motivations quiet.”

“Is he trying to end this thing with Strange?” Jim hasn’t heard a peep from Strange since his sudden “sabbatical” from the college. No one’s seen any sign of him since.

He laughs, “oh no, Jim Gordon, I’m fairly certain this is just the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The End!  
> I've had so much fun writing this. Thank you all for reading this fic and commenting, it really brightens my day.  
> Join me in about a week for some E rated nygmobblepot, and after that's up I'm going to begin working on my next story for this universe, Reset Room, which will have a once a week (or maybe less) post schedule!


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